Staring at the Sunset
by loveofmylonglife
Summary: Ross/Demelza AU. Ross is an art student doing his final assignment and he desperately needs some inspiration. Spot the Desperate Romantics references, Aidan fans.
1. Chapter 1

Verity sighed as a loud growl was heard from the next room, along with the inevitable sound of ripping paper.

"Fuck this," mouthed Verity absently, mimicking the tantrum brewing next door.

She raised her eyebrows and got up, padding across the floor in her comfy socks to stand in the doorway, viewing her cousin with amusement. The room was untidy before, but now it was littered with paper. Ross sat on the couch, his hair askew, his grey jumper full of chalk marks, his jaw tight.

"What was that? Your fourth try?"

"Tenth," he corrected moodily, crossing his arms like a toddler.

"Awww, poor Rossy Wossy," she cooed, laughing as she walked over to the kitchenette, putting the kettle on and taking out two large mugs, "maybe you should have a word with your tutor and get him to extend your deadline."

"I already did that last week, he gave me till the end of this week and I'm still fucked."

"I wish I could help you, but I'm elbow deep in my own paper."

"Oh, yeah! What is it….something about….liminal spaces? I heard you use that word."

He leapt into action and rummaged in the fridge for a small bottle of milk. He made a face and opened it, sniffing it cautiously before handing it over. Verity yawned and took it from him, trusting his judgement since it was too late at night to be worrying about milk. With any luck, it'd give her food poisoning and she wouldn't have to hand her paper in.

"No, it's about artifice and reality," she pointed, cocking her fingers around the words sarcastically, "It's a posh way of saying things aren't quite what they seem."

"Novels?" he asked inquisitively, ripping open a pack of custard creams and leaning over the island as she stirred sugar in their mugs.

"Lolita and Venus in Furs," she handed him a mug in the vague shape of a Roman Coliseum.

"That book by Sacher-Masoch? I loved it, that was one of the best novels I've ever read. I swear, if I wasn't doing art, I'd be in the English Department," mused Ross as Verity placed herself down next to him after pushing some scrunched up paper balls onto the floor.

"You'd better clean all of this up yourself. What's wrong, what's the problem?"

"The problem is me, Verity. Why can't I draw? I've found models and I've done research just like I did for all my other assignments, I don't know what's gone wrong this time."

He seemed genuinely worried, leaning forward to grasp the mug with both hands, his curly hair falling down to shield his face from her concerned gaze.

"Maybe you're stressed. Take a day out, get some fresh air, maybe things will be better when you come back. Maybe you'll have some inspiration."

"Inspiration is what eludes me," he said quietly, scrunching his eyes shut, "This is the final exam, I can't just sit here and draw whatever's in front of me. It has to be spectacular. It has to be stunning, breathtaking. Something that stays with you for days, weeks after seeing it."

He flopped backwards, lifting his socked feet onto the footrest in front of him. His sketchpad lay carelessly on the floor and he stared straight ahead at the wall in front of him, nursing his mug on his lap.

"And what about everyone else? What are they doing?"

"I dunno. Mark's too busy with his new girlfriend to bother. He says he'll just throw some different colours at a canvas and call it a Jackson Pollock. George's obviously found something great but of course, he won't tell anyone," muttered Ross, sipping his tea noisily.

"What has he found, do you think?"

"I don't know. Francis knows, but he won't tell me. The assignment that gets the highest marks doesn't just get a first class honours, it also gets displayed at the gallery with a big cocktail reception and stuff. I can't stand the thought of seeing George swanning around with a champagne flute in one hand and that stupid duck's arse hair."

"And Elizabeth?"

Ross stopped sipping at once and set his mug back on his lap, looking around the room nonchalantly. Verity fought the urge to laugh.

"She hasn't told me, she said she was looking for something interesting," said Ross airily, pretending to be interested in his tea again.

"Well, I think you should take my advice and spend a day out. Try to stay away from campus, I don't want you getting in another spat with George."

"If it's not George, then it's your dick of a brother," said Ross, hoisting himself off the couch to tip the rest of the tea down the sink, yawning and stretching as he sauntered back towards the couch. Verity raised her eyebrows.

"If I'm your cousin, he's your cousin too. He means well, Ross, you know that."

"Yeah, I know he does," Ross muttered darkly, bending down to start the cleaning process, "he also meant well when he stole my girlfriend."

"She was not your girlfriend and she's not a commodity that can be stolen and kept," Verity sighed, getting up, "you and Elizabeth were never together. Get over it. Move on."

Her frustrated arm movements annoyed Ross even further as he grabbed a black bin liner and started shoving his unsuccessful attempts inside.

"You can talk. You and Andy are fine, it's not as if you'd know what it's like."

"Excuse me, I get my fair share of shit from Francis about Andrew. And from you too, when you're in the mood."  
She finished her tea and washed the mug, setting it out to dry and pulling her phone from her pocket as the alert tone rang through the room.

"Probably your lover now," teased Ross, tossing a ball of paper across the island at her.

She laughed and caught it, throwing it back at him.

"Not even close," she responded, typing back a reply, "I'm gonna get some sleep, I have a long day tomorrow. I have a lecture and a seminar straight after, then there's a bake sale for the charity I work with."

"Oh, the big one? I've been seeing posters for it all around campus," he said, tying up the bag and setting it by the island to deposit in the large trash bin outside in the morning.

"Yep. I'll try not to make too much noise when I bake in the morning, I know you'll be asleep. Art students, God, I never see you come out of you room before midday."

"That's because I work all night," Ross grinned back, picking up his sketch book again, "Goodnight."

Verity waved and opened her mouth to say goodnight, but that quickly transformed into a yawn. Ross raised his eyebrows and ushered her off as he picked up his pencil, lying down on the couch and staring up at the ceiling.

"Verityyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!" she cried, opening the oven quickly as the timer rang loudly through the apartment. She took the tray out and set the cake on the worktop, fanning it with the oven gloves in a hopeless attempt to get it to cool. She picked up a bowl of cream and dumped it all on the first cake, spreading it and layering jam on top.

Ross groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and pushing his hair out of his face. Papers scrunched all around him and he brushed them off as he stood up, dusting himself down. The morning light pierced his eyes harshly and he made another sad sound.

"Now I need the wire ra—Ross! Hands off!"

He frowned as he dropped a piece of cake, leaning over the island to inspect his cousin's work with interest.

"That looks delicious."

"Home made raspberry jam. It'll be the most elegant Victoria sponge the University of Exeter Cornwall Campus has ever seen!" she exclaimed with delight, opening up the cake tin to let the top layer cool as she began mixing icing in a small bowl.

Ross picked up the jam pot and dipped a finger inside, licking noisily.

"And will there be any for me?"

"I've made Nutella cupcakes too, they're already in a container, you can have some of those if there are any left. This, however, is my pride and joy and I'll be selling this whole."

She set the top half to cool in the fridge and took out a myriad of icing colours, wiping her hands on a nearby kitchen towel.

"And you? Did you get any work done while I was asleep?"

"Fuck all," muttered Ross, sighing and placing his hands on his hips as he walked around the room, "I tried but—"

"You need time away, I keep saying it," muttered Verity, skipping about the kitchen in her plimsolls. She took the cake out of the fridge and iced it quickly, creating a beautiful pattern Ross could only marvel at. She placed it on top of the cream layer and showed him.

"Ta-da! One Victoria Sponge ready to go!" she beamed, placing it in a transparent plastic cake container. Ross smiled.

"Oh, Ross, why don't you go out with Dwight or something?"

She set the container down and grabbed a comb, standing in front of the mirror to brush her hair out and pack her handbag as quickly as she could.

"Oh, he's a med student, they hardly have time to breathe, let alone wander around like an idiot."

"Well, the good news is that I might have found someone you could draw. She's one of my friends, she texted me last night and that's where I got the idea. You'll like her, I met her at a book shop just outside Truro once. I think her Dad owns it or something. Anyway, she'll be perfect for you to draw. You always feel inspired when you look at Rossetti and Millais and Burne-Jones, and she's exactly perfect for that kind of drawing. Her hair's so pretty, I think she'd—"

"Verity, I'm glad you want to help, but the aim is to produce something original, not a copy of someone else's art, especially not anyone as prestigious as Gabriel himself," he pointed, staring at her with incredulity, as if it were obvious.

She turned and stared at him.

"I always think it's weird how you call him by his first name. You do realise he's dead and that you don't actually personally know him, right?"

"We've had this conversation before, Verity, he's—"

"Look, do whatever you want, I'm late for my lecture and it'll take me and Andrew forever to carry all of this to the campus. I'll send her over soon."

"I won't be at home!" he called after her as she pulled her coat on and carried the cake out of the door, "I'll be in the field! Alone!"

"Then I'll send her there!" called Verity.

Ross glared after her as she made her way downstairs. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on roughly, picking up his sketchpad. He shoved his phone into his pocket and walked out, locking the door behind him and following his cousin down the stairs. He didn't need anyone's help.

By the time he'd made his way out of the apartment block, Verity had already gone. He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, fixing his bag over his shoulder as he walked down the street. His plan was to make his way to the village just beyond the few streets where they lived, and to go down as far as he could. He needed some peace and quiet. Besides, he had less chance of bumping into Francis or anyone else he'd rather not meet.

"Need a lift, Poldark?"

Ross stopped stock still on the pavement, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tightening as he gritted his teeth. He couldn't see the smirk, but he could hear it.

"George," he exclaimed, turning to face him and forcing a smile, "what a pleasant surprise."

George smiled amiably, parking his silver top down close to Ross. His obnoxious white cricket sweater hurt Ross' eyes.

"Where are you off to? Campus? I could drop you there if you like, I'm heading that way myself to hand in my assignment."

"You're already done?" asked Ross, trying to hide his surprise.

"Yeah, I finished last night. It was pretty relaxing, I enjoyed the whole experience. I feel like I really grew as a man, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, you go ahead. I'm going somewhere different."

"Sure. Elizabeth let me know she and Francis were there. I'm sure they'd love some company, we might go out for a bite to eat later at the Thai place down the road. Join us, if you want. You can repay my tenner in the form of a main course."

"I'll let you know," smiled Ross, his cheeks aching from keeping up the pretense.

George smiled back, making a quick U-turn and disappearing down the road with an unnecessarily loud engine.

"Little fucker," muttered Ross, turning around and looking down as he made his way down the street, stamping fiercely at the pavement, "Who the fuck drives a convertible with the top down in winter? In Cornwall?!"

This was more like it. There was nothing here but the grass, the sky and the weak winter sun. He was so glad he'd stayed in Cornwall. He'd applied to London, but rejected the offer at the last minute. You couldn't find this in London. A lot of people hated this time of year, but it was Ross' favourite. He loved how chilly it got in the countryside during winter, how everything frosted over and the windows became misty with the cold. It was good for him, Verity had said, because Ross always wore the same three colours in different combinations: black, white and grey, and they suited much more at this time of year. "For an art student, you're awfully monochrome," she remarked once. His art was never very colourful either, he mused, opening up his sketchbook to view his previous pieces. Mostly pencil or chalk, bare outlines of old buildings or dramatic renderings of human figures. He drew inspiration mainly from Greek myth and he'd brought a copy of the Metamorphoses with him today, hoping the air would clear his mind and Ovid would fill it with ideas. He knew Verity didn't mind him borrowing her book.

He shifted his back as he sat against the tree, looking out across the field at the old farm house opposite. Although the field was open to the public, the man he liked to call Farmer Jud and his wife, Prudie, never approved of the long stretches of time he seemed to spend here. If worst came to worst, they chased him off their land with a shovel in their hands, ranting about how he wasn't 'fit' or 'proper.' He was sure the further he stayed from their line of sight, the easier life would be. He set his sketchbook on his lap and scuffed the soil with the soles of his boots, frowning as he looked up to a rustle of a plastic shopping bag. Jud stared down at him.

"You again? You can get out an' all. Go on, off with you, I ain't got all day. I be missing my Antiques Roadshow!"

Ross sighed and got up.

"You do know this is a public place, right? Anyone can come and sit here, it's not your land any more than it's mine."

"If it's in my line of sight, it's my land. Now away with you," Jud flapped his hands as if he was warding away a cloud of midges.

Ross sighed and shook his head, his eyes wide in disbelief. He scoffed and picked up his sketchbook and bag, tossing it over his shoulder.

"Fine, then. I'm done here anyway."

His tantrum made no difference to Jud, who nodded approvingly and made his way back inside. Ross pricked up the collars of his leather jacket against the wind and stomped out of the field, half to warm his feet and half to show his anger. The only place left was the clifftop. At least there he wouldn't be victim to whoever Verity would force him to be nice to. It wasn't that he was averse to meeting people. He could be quite social when he wanted to, but not when he was frustrated. Even Verity knew he wasn't the best of company then and being temperamental was a family trait.

The cold air hit his face almost at once, stripping his hair back as he strode across the cliff towards the very edge. Now this was the stuff of inspiration. He'd never get tired of the sunset and sunrise from these cliffs, it was like standing on the edge of heaven. It was the only thing that had once persuaded him to paint in colour, with dewy pinks and peachy reds dripping from his page, followed by the clear blue water and brilliant white cliffs underneath, cradling the sun like a baby in a manger. He perched himself at the very edge of the cliff, his hair lashing against his face in the wind. He took his sketchbook out, placing his set of pencils next to his copy of Ovid and grabbing a rock to set on his rapidly fluttering paper. The sunset may be an obvious thing to sketch, but he had to start somewhere and this was better than nothing. He picked out a pencil with the thinnest nib and got to work, scratching carefully on the thick canvas paper.

"Mr Poldark? Excuse me, are you Ross Poldark?"

Ross furrowed his brow and turned around where he sat, staring at the slim girl who'd battled the elements to come to him. She carried an armful of books on one side and secured a shawl around her upper body with her free hand. Her eyes were slitted against the sharp wind, her flaming orange hair tied up wisely. She was a slight girl, dressed comfortably in a pair of jeans and an oversize red jumper that swamped her tiny frame, covering her hands. A pair of black riding boots finished off the sight in front of him, but it was her face that made him look twice. High, angular cheekbones, small eyes and thin lips, framed by a halo of fiery hair. She wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense, like Elizabeth, but there was something of another world about her. Something ethereal and rustic, like she was a relic of another age. He got up and made his way over.

"Yes? Did Verity send you? I'm glad you could make it."

"No problem at all! I thought I'd drop these off with you. Verity said you needed some help with an art project, she said you were an art student at the university and explained what you were doing, so I picked out a few books that I thought would help."

She took the first one and opened it, showing him various pages of Tennyson's works illustrated in their full glory.

"She said you wanted something dramatic, so I thought perhaps something like this, Holman Hunt's Lady of Shalott. The chiaroscuro here is fantastic, I thought you could use that? Or this," she said quickly, closing the first book and opening another, "Gentileschi's Judith Beheading Holofernes, this is a great one for realism, if that's your kind of thing."

"I've always loved that painting, it's one of the best versions of the story of Judith and Holofernes, I love how she's just going for it, Gentileschi was never one to shy away from the real violence of an act. Like Caravaggio's Judith looks disgusted by what she's doing but—"

"Gentileschi's Judith doesn't seem to care," she finished, almost laughing.

"Exactly!" he laughed back, "Look at the expression on her face, she's just a hundred percent done with the entire situation!"

They both laughed and Ross stuck a hand out.

"Sorry. Ross Poldark, it's nice to meet you. Oh, let me get those."

He lifted the collection of books out of her arms and set them down on the grass.

"Demelza Carne," she smiled warmly and shook his hand.

"Sorry about the marks on my hands, I was drawing," he explained unnecessarily, "if you love art so much, you should come over to the university."

"I applied, but we don't really have enough money to pay off the loan at the moment. If I were to study, I'd love to do art or art history. I'm not much of a reader or writer."

"Me either, that's more Verity's thing. So if we make our way somewhere a bit more comfortable, I can get started on my sketches."

"Oh, of course, there's some space in the back of the shop if you want to come in. It's like a little reading room."

"That sounds perfect."

He packed his things back up and within a few moments of comfortable silence, they were inside a small, antiquated bookshop made entirely out of wood.

"Pretty but flammable," said a concerned Ross as Demelza lead him into the back room.

"We don't have much cause for a fire around here," she laughed, showing him a desk, "Tea? Coffee?"

"Something stronger, if you have it, that'd be great."

He set out his pencils and chalks and colours down on the table, pulling out his sketchbook and opening a fresh page as Demelza brought out a small glass of brandy.

"That's all we have, I'm afraid. My father's a vicar at the local church, he doesn't drink too much. He's out right now, but please let me know if you want anything else. We've got some biscuits and stuff, so just help yourself. I'll be out front," she said, flashing a small smile as she folded up her thick shawl.

Ross stared, blinking a few times.

"And when will you be back? It's just that I haven't got long, I have to help my cousin out at the university."

"You get started straight away, if you have everything."

She looked cluelessly at him, cocking her head curiously.

"Verity….did explain that you were to be my model, right?"

He resisted a grin as Demelza looked at him with a mixture of shock and horror.

"No! She just said you needed some help so I picked out some books for inspiration! She didn't say anything about being a model!" she exclaimed, "No, no, you look at some of the pictures in the books, I'm definitely not model material. Besides, who'll see the shop?"

Ross grinned, his eyes bright as he strode over and grabbed her hands.

"Somehow, I think we'll manage."

He dragged her over to stand at some distance from the table on which he'd set his supplies, and then stood back, observing her. She planted her feet awkwardly on the ground, looking at him gawkily, fisting the cuffs of her large red jumper in her hands. It was so big that it was falling off her left shoulder, her boots covered in mud from the walk.

"D'you want me to…pose or something?"

She threw her arms around awkwardly like she was performing an interpretative dance, her limp jumper sleeves flying around her. Ross grinned at her goofiness and noted the way she stood, with her feet pointed inwards. She grimaced. Was he laughing at her? She knew she looked like Kate Bush performing Wuthering Heights, but he was the one who'd asked for her to model. She gritted her teeth in annoyance. She didn't take well to being laughed at, especially by one who thought he was so much better than her.

"No, don't worry, we'll figure something out."

He grinned again and hoisted himself up onto the table, swinging his legs absently as he viewed her with interest. A loud bell rang through the room again and he raised his eyebrows. She wasn't baking cakes for the bake sale too, was she?

"Oh, Judas! My pie!" she whispered dramatically, her eyes widening.

And like a shot, she was off, running away into the kitchen to open the oven. She appeared a few moments later with a large shortcrust pie on a wooden slab.

"Sorry, I was making dinner, so….," she waved at the pie and laughed awkwardly, setting it down on the table next to him, "help yourself," she finished brightly.

She bit her lip. Had she just asked him to help himself to a large pie which she'd said was dinner? Why did she sound like she'd inhaled helium? She laughed again and then stopped herself. This was bad. He, by contrast, was grinning stupidly, still swinging his legs off the table.

"I'll wait for it to cool down first. Shall we get started?"

She nodded and stood back in place again, her hands limp by her sides. He stood up too, grabbing his sketchbook, jacket and the bottle of brandy that sat on the sideboard.

"Outside," he said to her brusquely, marching out of the shop the way he had come, "and bring your shawl!" he called. She stared and picked up the folded fabric square, running after him.

"It's too windy out here!" she called, following him back to the clifftop where she'd first seen him.

"Not for me!" he called back, setting up his collapsible easel in the grass, taking a swig from the brandy as he set it down by the side.

He took a large A0 sketchbook out and set it up on the canvas. Now Demelza could only see his legs and she frowned, jumping up and down to warm herself, wrapping her shawl tight around her. Why had she agreed to do this for Verity? For all she knew, Ross Poldark could be an axe murderer. Perhaps he was preparing the axe behind the canvas. She peeked around the side cautiously. He peeked back with raised eyebrows.

"Yes?"

"Let's get on with it, I haven't got all day. Dad'll be back from the church soon."

Ross didn't acknowledge her words as he picked up his chalk in one hand and a pencil in the other.

"Take your hair out. I mean, loose, untie it."

He furrowed his brows as he steadied the paper with a rock, his own hair lashing his face again like a thousand whips.

"Is that…okay?"

He looked up and couldn't stop looking. She narrowed her eyes against the wind as a thick mass of red, wavy hair lashed her face in a similar way. It flew this way and that, highlighting her pale face, clashing comfortably with her red jumper and white shawl. She looked mismatched but perfect. The wind died down for a second, just lifting the ends of her hair every now and then as it settled down around her face. It wasn't too long, just long enough to make an impression. The waves were like lava tumbling delicately down a volcano, whipping up into a tornado-like frenzy as soon as the wind started up. It had none of the delicacy of Rossetti's Aurelia, delicately fixing her hair, or the tragedy of Millais' Ophelia, floating aimlessly in a river. This was something else altogether, like an untapped force of nature.

"Are you going to start or shall I go inside and eat my pie?"

Ross' dumbfounded face broke out into a grin as he saw Demelza raise an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. She was cute when she was annoyed.

"Just stay there," he said, picking up his pencil, "you just stay right there."

"In short, I find it an impressive subversion of the Pre-Raphaelite aesthetic. Gone are the plump lips and dreamy expressions, the sensuality; the model instead gazes at you from the canvas with an almost unsettling stare, such emotive eyes, thin lips, pale skin this time covered, not exposed, and the hair, it takes up the whole canvas. The hair is the real star of the portrait here, taking on a life of its own, bigger than the model herself, whipped up into a veritable riot of colour and shape, a creative explosion, if you will!"

The examiner's voice rose into a frenzy as he gesticulated wildly at the portrait hanging on the wall. Ross shoved his hands in his pockets, grinning as he looked up at the canvas. It was bigger that he remembered it and it'd been a long wait to finally get his grades back. He'd finally finished the degree on a high, something he'd never expected.

"I was right after all, then," whispered Verity, clinking her champagne flute with his.

"You're always right!" he whispered back as if he said it all the time.

"Ross Poldark? Would you like to say a few words about your portrait?"

Ross stepped forwards, handing his glass to Verity, turning to face the crowd next to the canvas. He looked up at it once, and then back at the crowd.

"I spent a long time trying to find inspiration. It's amazing what frustration can to do a man, to be honest. And this?" he gestured up at the canvas, "This is art. Perhaps the only true piece of art I've ever created. No, it's not the conventional aesthetic, there's no slipping silks and flowers, but I kindly disagree with our esteemed professor. There is a sensuality here. Not an open, inviting one, but a dark, earthy one. She's…real. She's not an image or a vision. And I'd like to thank her for this," he finished, picking himself up from a lost place.

He turned back to the crowd as they applauded, Verity grinning and clapping loudly. He scanned the crowd and saw a small figure clad in a red, flecked dress, standing at the periphery, not clapping but looking up at the portrait.

"And here she is! Please, put your hands together for my muse, Demelza Carne!"

He gestured to the back of the crowd and it parted like the Red Sea, still clapping. Demelza stared at him, shaking her head and making a neck slicing motion. He grinned and strode over, taking her hand and pulling her forward until she stood in front of the portrait. The crowd applauded and she smiled awkwardly, raising a hand in acknowledgement. They were all clapping for her, she thought in surprise. She smiled hesitantly at Ross, who nodded and moved his head towards the crowd. She smiled even wider at them, straightening her back. As the professor addressed the crowd and announced the start of the reception, Ross took a glass from a nearby waiter and handed it to her.

"What do you think?" he asked in anticipation, turning around to view the painting, "do you like it?"

She smiled so wide her cheeks ached, suppressing a laugh as she saw herself rendered so dramatically on a canvas. It was the first time anyone had painted her and standing for hours in that cold, blustery field while the sun went down hadn't really been her idea of a fun evening, but if this was what had come out of it, it was all worth it.

"It's….fascinating," she finished quietly, staring at it in joy.

Ross looked at her. Any other model would have said it was beautiful, but not Demelza.

"Then I'm glad. Art's not meant to be pretty, it's meant to make you think. You make me think."

"Of what?"

She turned to him with a playful smile.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," suggested Ross, raising his glass across the room to George who stood in the corner with Francis. George forced a smile and inclined his head towards Ross, raising his glass too. Francis didn't acknowledge Ross at all, but Elizabeth straightened her cocktail dress and looked past Francis to Demelza, then up at the portrait. Ross barely noticed and was too busy watching Demelza carefully run her fingers over the now hard, dry paint.

"I forgot to return your books," he said, taking a bunch out of his bag.

"Keep them," she offered, tracing the lines of paint with her hand.

"Why would I? I already have all the inspiration I need."


	2. Chapter 2

I'm so sorry I took so long to update this one, I've been abroad and busy with various life administration. Hope you like this one, let me know!

* * *

"Demelza? Demelza, are you in?"

He knocked furiously at the door, his hair whipping around his face as he looked around about him for any sign of a small, red headed girl. He frowned again and jumped back over the gate, heading around the back. All seemed quiet and he took out his phone, dialling her number and leaving a missed call. Again. And again. His lips pursed. He didn't like to be kept waiting. Soon, his phone started ringing, with 'Demelza' coming up as the ID. He grinned and quickly swiped his thumb across the screen, making his way back around to the front of the house.

"Hey, where are you? You said you'd be in, I had this awesome idea with the stable in the next field, like a Christmas theme and stuff. Anyway, do you have any food? I'm starving, I haven't eaten all day—"

"Mister Poldark. Why do you insist on repeatedly calling my daughter?"

"Oh. Mr Carne. Good afternoon."

Ross' eyes widened as he looked up and saw a stern man standing on the doorstep, with a phone to his ear. Demelza's father's eyes were hell itself. Ross felt like Dante being taken on a tour of the seven levels by an absent Beatrice. Beatrice had red hair too, thought Ross absently. Demelza would make a good Beatrice.

"Well?" came a booming voice and Ross suddenly realised he was very close to Mr Carne. Closer than he'd planned to be. Closer, in fact, than he felt he'd ever been to any other living being in his life.

"I…."

"Ross! What are you doing here?!"

A bright chuckle alerted both men and Demelza appeared seemingly out of thin air. She clutched two large plastic bags in both hands, full of groceries. Her hair was askew and her expression comical as she viewed Ross and her father. Her dad seemed to be towering over her friend. She suspected he might have a knife secreted in a back pocket.

"I came to see if you were in. I had a few ideas," he shrugged, gesturing needlessly to his sketch pad and bag.

"Oh, sure, let me just put all this stuff in and get some food for us both. Did you want to go to the field again? Come on in, you can help me with the groceries."

She made her way inside and Ross raised his eyebrows at her father, stealthily slipping past him and down the path into Demelza's house. She deposited the bags on the kitchen counter and started to sort out the produce, talking all the while.

"Bloody 5p plastic bag charge, does my head in. I had to buy two bags for life from the supermarket, can you imagine? They were 10p each and 'reusable,' apparently. I mean, how many times can you use one of these things before it breaks? The handles are already going with six pints of milk. Bag for life? More like bag for two weeks."

Ross burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. She looked up at him in surprise. He had a hilarious grin on his face as he tucked a carton of juice into the fridge door.

"What's so funny?" she asked sternly with her hands on her hips.

"Nothing, nothing," he dismissed, smiling wide and bundling up the now empty plastic bags.

"You upper crust folk, I bet you don't have to worry about plastic bag charges. You keep laughing at me and I won't give you any scotch eggs," she admonished, picking up an old fashioned wicker basket from a cupboard.

Ross turned around from the fridge and peered out with interest.

"Scotch eggs? I want scotch eggs. And what do you mean 'you upper crust folk'?"

"You. You and Verity," she explained as she took out a myriad of boxes from the fridge, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. He hitched himself up onto the counter next to his sketch pad, nosily munching an apple as he watched her. His boots clinked against the cupboards.

"What about me and Verity?"

"Let's put it this way. You have money. We don't. You have more money that a lot of people. I mean, who else could afford to do a degree in fine art and then a residency? You seen the cars you drive? You only have to take one look at your driveway to know you lot aren't the normal sort."

"The normal sort," repeated Ross in amusement, "no, we're not the normal sort. But just because we have flashy cars it doesn't mean we're not normal. I'm pretty normal. Right?"

At this, Demelza stopped and turned. She stared at Ross purposefully.

"You are so not normal."

"What?! Why?! What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you, you're just….not normal. I don't mind it, though. I think everyone's normal until you get to know them, then everyone's very weird."

Ross couldn't argue with that, so he kept eating his apple until Demelza had finished assembling the picnic basket. She picked up her jacket and pulled it on roughly, grabbing the handles and motioning for Ross to follow.

"I'll be out for a while with Ross, Dad, he has to do some stuff for work. See you soon!" she called, waving vaguely at the living room. Mr Carne turned in his chair and opened his mouth to say something but Ross and Demelza were already out of the door by that time.

"So how's the residency going?"

"Yeah, it's not bad. I don't have to do much. I have to produce work at certain times but the deadlines are always quite far apart and they understand that I can only work if I have good inspiration. They let me wander around the grounds quite a bit."

"Well, I'm glad it's going well."

They walked in comfortable silence across the windy field, grass lashing at their ankles until they reached the large tree in the middle. It was an old oak with sprawling branches, visible from Demelza's bedroom window. It gave her chills to look at it from afar during winter. It reminded her of something out of a Gothic novel, wild and large and uncontrollable, although it never moved. She flopped down against the trunk and set the picnic basket between her legs, opening it up and taking out all the little boxes.

"Scotch eggs," she confirmed, tossing him a small box. He grinned and sat down cross legged, munching away. She picked up a sandwich and began to make her way through it, looking around the field absently as she ate. Ross observed her surreptitiously. She felt his gaze on her but she was used to it. He called it his artist's eye. It had made her feel very conscious of her own actions at first, but then she became accustomed to it.

Ross ate slowly, watching her as she sat up, legs spread at a 45 degree angle, a box of sandwiches in the empty space in front of her. Her movements were free and easy, as if she was listening to some imaginary song. The wind played with her hair, making the little wisps around her face dance merrily. She'd tied it up today. She always kept it tied up unless he asked. Today, she was wearing a soft, grey oversize jumper with a deep V neck, skinny jeans and black ankle boots with studs and zips on them. He raised an eyebrow as he surveyed her attire. She looked oddly on trend today. Usually when he came to see her, she was dressed in a Barbour jacket, wellies covered in mud and a nondescript shirt.

"You look different today," he noted, finishing up his box of Scotch eggs.

"How?"

"I don't know. You're not mucky."

She blinked back at him and picked up another sandwich.

"Who says I have to be mucky all the time?"

"No one."

And with that, he jumped up, taking his easel out of his bag. She sighed and leaned back against the tree, pretending to whine.

"Can't I just have five minutes more? I haven't even finished my sandwiches!"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered dismissively, fixing his sketch pad on the easel and steadying it with a rock. As he organised his charcoals and pencils, he looked up at the tree through narrow eyes and stood in front of Demelza like a teacher.

"So I've been given a commission for a Christmas piece and I want to do something with you and the horses."

Demelza nodded along as she ate.

"You don't even know what the idea is yet."

"If you want me to be Lady Godiva, sorry, no can do."

Ross waved his hands around in irritation.

"No, no. I have this."

He dove into his bag and took out a large, rusty and very archaic lantern. It creaked. Demelza stared.

"Let's go to the stables."

He promptly spun on his heel, picked up his easel and walked purposefully to the edge of the field. Demelza sighed and crawled up onto her feet, packing the picnic basket again and dragging it into the stables. Ross had already positioned his easel, his jacket tossed carelessly on the hay, a pencil held between his teeth as he lit the lantern carefully.

"Fuck, I thought it was all going to go up," he muttered in relief, setting the lantern down on a sideboard, "alright, so I was saying we sh…..Demelza?"

He turned at the odd silence, his pencil poised as he viewed her. She was staring around the stable in awe, the picnic basket still in her hand. She didn't even know this place existed. The lights reflected in her bright eyes as she looked around. It was like something out of a movie, a stable made entirely out of mahogany coloured wooden boards, the peaked roof supported by wooden pillars and hay everywhere. Five large Victorian-style electric lanterns were suspended along the walls, shining a warm and strangely dim light around the four walls. And of course, in pride of place were three tall, dark horses with glossy coats, one chewing on hay, the other seemingly asleep and the third staring at Demelza curiously. She smiled wide, setting the picnic basket down hurriedly. She loved horses. A laugh escaped her lips as she cupped the smallest horse's face, gently petting her as she nuzzled Demelza's hand.

"Look how friendly she is!" exclaimed Demelza happily, rubbing the horse's neck affectionately.

"Her name's Maria," came Ross' voice from behind her as he reached out to pet her also.

"How do you know? Is she yours? Is this stable yours?"

"Not mine exclusively. It belongs to the Poldark family. This is Maria, that's Seamus and over there, the grossly overweight one, that's Hugh. He's Verity's. Do you ride?"

"Of course, I love horses!"

"Of course you do," mused Ross, cracking a grin as he watched her pet Maria, slowly backing away until he was behind his easel. He sorted through his pencils as Demelza retrieved a half eaten pack of mints from her pocket, feeding Maria.

"Oh, wait, sorry, you wanted me to do something with the lantern?"

"Nope. No, it's fine. Just do what you're doing," came Ross' voice from behind his easel. Demelza knew better than to argue and soon, hours had passed. Demelza had dutifully fed all three horses and was now sitting cross legged on the floor, offering hay to Seamus.

"Shall I still keep doing what I'm doing? Only I'm bored now and I'm sure all three have eaten more than enough."

Ross peered out from behind the easel with a familiar look. His hair was thrown across his face carelessly, his hands black with charcoal and his feet shoulder width apart.

"Yeah, no, of course," he muttered, striding out to stand in front of Demelza, motioning for her to stand up also. She did so and stared at him.

"What do you want me to do with the lantern?"

"Just hold it," he said flatly, picking it up and shoving it into her hands. She fumbled and cradled it in both hands, her eyes blank as Ross stepped back and surveyed her with a discerning eye.

"Hair," he said quietly, folding his arms across his chest.

Almost without thinking, Demelza untied her hair in a smooth sweep and shook it out. Ross noticed it was much longer than the last time he'd seen her. His last two portraits of her had been with her hair tied up. She looked strange with such long hair; it tumbled wildly down to the small of her back. There was a strange allure to the way it fell, though. Not so much the untapped force of nature he'd seen before. It looked heavier, thicker than before. She stared back at him. He usually went into a creative frenzy when it got to this point. His stillness was unnerving. She shifted her feet awkwardly, her boots making light scratching sounds against the dry hay and stone. Her hands ached from holding the heavy, strangely shaped lantern.

He stepped back quietly to observe her. The way she looked at him hesitantly over the lantern, as if she was unsure at what he would do. He liked that. He'd always liked the way she looked at him. Unsure, but never frightened. Curious. The way the flame's warm glow danced across her face, turning her skin from pale to peach then back again in a matter of seconds. He was entranced by it, the shadows that formed up along her neck and across her jaw. He stepped forward and brushed a heavy expanse of her hair back over her shoulder. She flinched slightly at the action but didn't move away. She found it odd that he thought he had the right to touch her like that without asking. He paused to observe the effect of his action and furrowed his brow. Something wasn't right, she knew. She didn't utter a word or a sound as he brushed her hair completely over one shoulder and with effortless ease, pulled the neck of her jumper down to expose a large expanse of her shoulder. She gasped involuntarily at the chill which breezed over her bare skin but he barely noticed. He placed three fingers under her chin and tilted her head back very, very slightly. He turned on his heel and walked back to the easel.

"Just be yourself."

An hour later and the familiar whining had started again.

"My hands hurt."

"So do mine."

"I'm tired."

"So am I."

She made a frustrated noise and gritted her teeth. Ross sighed as he looked at her from above his sketch pad. She was no good when she was like this. When she became tired and irritable, her posture inflected and Ross wasn't able to work.

"Do you want to help me?"

"With what?" she replied sullenly.

"With the horses," he gestured to the canvas. Her eyes lit up and he couldn't resist a grin.

"You'll teach me how to draw? Really?"

He nodded and she set the lantern down quickly, running over behind the canvas. She frowned at the paper clipped to most of it.

"What's that for?"

"It's a surprise. I don't want you to see all of it before it's finished. Now, let's use the charcoal. You can see the faint skeleton I've made, try to keep to that and shade in where you think a shadow is."

He watched for a while as she meticulously worked at the canvas, her tongue sticking out from between her teeth as she almost beat the canvas with the charcoal. Black powder flew everywhere, covering not only the canvas but Demelza herself.

"No, no, not so hard, you have to be gentle. It's only paper and with charcoal, you want a light, smokey, shadowy effect. Like this, look."

He took the tiny piece of black ash from her and softly flicked it across the page like he was skimming pebbles across water. He held his arm steady and flicked his wrist very gently.

"It makes a nice sound, doesn't it? Now you try. Remember to be gentle. That's perfect, see how good that looks? Now let's try something bigger, why don't you try the lantern on the top right? The light and shadow are quite tricky there."

Demelza said nothing but got to work slowly, gently flicking the charcoal across the paper like she'd seen Ross do.

"That's good," he commented, "you're doing well. Let me help you."

He placed his hand over Demelza's as she shaded, pressing the charcoal a little deeper into the paper.

"It's darker here, see? Almost black, we want a layered texture here, and then lighter on the outside. This light play, it's called chiaroscuro," he murmured quietly, "it means playing with light and shadow."

The Italian term rolled off his tongue melodiously with a strong accent. He kept a light grip on her hand as she accented around the shadows.

"I've been practicing chiaroscuro with your figure. The light here gives me an excellent opportunity."

His lips were close to her ear now and she swallowed involuntarily, her eyes going slightly out of focus as she stared at the lantern on the canvas, her movements slowing without any concentration.

"The lantern you carry, it casts a shadow on your neck, somewhere around about here," he murmured, lifting a finger to gently trace down the side of her neck. She shivered slightly at the unexpected touch. His hand felt rough and callused as she'd expected, but also strangely warm against the cold night breeze whistling in through the wooden cracks of the stable. She could barely focus on his words and was acutely aware that she'd stopped shading altogether. The side of her hand rested against the canvas, still clutching the small piece of charcoal.

"Right here," he murmured softly, brushing a finger across her neck and up to her ear, "and then here, the light dances across your skin like jewels." His voice was barely a whisper as his fingers tripped softly over her collarbone and across her shoulder, "this is your décolletage," he instructed quietly. She closed her eyes and gently tipped her head to the side, absently enjoying the feeling of his rough fingers over her skin, musing at how perfect his accents were whenever he spoke foreign words. He was lost in how soft her skin was, almost fascinated by the silk-like texture under his fingers. His artist's eye viewed it as a fabric to work with but his mind responded differently. His fingers left smudgy grey trails over her neck and he brushed her hair away slowly.

"And then the light hits your hair and it's like an explosion…..a volcano," he mused almost to himself, his voice still low and strangely hoarse as he tangled his fingers in her wild mane. She felt a pleasant tugging at her scalp as his fingers worked their way through her mass of hair. All of a sudden, the warmth of his chest at her back was replaced by an abrupt cold wind and a loud crash of wood. Her slitted eyes opened suddenly and she turned around to view a scene out of a horror movie. Her father stood at the door of the stable and had wrenched the door open. She dropped the piece of charcoal and Ross opened his mouth. Her father was obviously angry and Ross was aware it was late and dark outside. The weather had deteriorated since they'd been cooped up inside and her father was dripping from head to toe. Ross stepped forward.

"Mr Carne, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to keep Demelza this long. We were just finishing up, in fact, and I—"

Mr Carne, however, was having none of what Ross was serving. He strode forward and grabbed Demelza's arm, staring into her eyes menacingly. The candle light that had illuminated Demelza cast red, angry shadows over her father's face.

"You're coming with me, right now."

Demelza said nothing, but her uneven breaths could be heard even over the now raucous patter of rain outside. Her father dragged her out towards the entrance and Demelza turned back to look at Ross before staring at her father, who tightened his grip on her arm painfully hard, glaring at her.

"I told you not to stay out past dark. Especially not with him. If you leave my sight again, if you disobey me again, I will not be responsible for my actions. Don't shame me, do you understand?"

Demelza stared up at him, too frightened to say a word, yet aware that she was being asked a question. She didn't know how to respond and her lips opened and closed, but no words came out.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

His words thundered through the barn as he shook his daughter hard by the arm, the lanterns flickering with the force of it. She flinched at the sound of his yelling, trying to pull her arm free fruitlessly. He was hurting her, it was clear from his vice-like grip and the look on her face. She nodded, agreeing with her father if only to ease the pain a little. Satisfied at this, he dragged her out of the barn without so much as a backward look at Ross. Ross stared after the pair in astonishment. He leaned down to pick up the piece of charcoal Demelza had dropped, and after a moment's silence, began to slowly pack up his canvas and utensils.

That night, as he lay awake in bed, he did what he usually did every night. He reviewed his day. What had gone well, what hadn't, what needed to be fixed and how to do it. There were a thousand things he could have thought about, but his mind gravitated to what had happened in the barn. Not what had happened between him and Demelza, but what he'd seen happen between her and her father. He'd tried to call her several times since he got home and had received no replies. He'd thought better of sending her a text since he remembered how her father had called him from her phone this morning. He didn't want to send anything in a text that would make her situation worse if her father saw it. And surely if she had her phone, she would have picked up his calls. His thoughts spun around his head as he turned over in bed to face the window. Had her father taken her phone from her? Did he rifle through it like a jealous boyfriend? Was that why he had it in his possession this morning? Ross sighed and ran his hands over his face, closing his eyes tightly. He didn't know what was going on between them, but no one disciplined their child that harshly for something as trivial as staying out late. She was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions and in the short few months Ross had known her, he had come to understand that Demelza was a cheerful, kind but ultimately strong willed and determined girl. She was stubborn but also very insecure. He remembered inviting her out for dinner once with Verity and their friends from university. She had told him afterwards that the restaurant was 'too posh' for her, and all throughout the night, she had been very conscious of eating 'properly' and looking 'proper.' She always seemed conscious of how other people perceived her. She never cared much about how he himself thought about her, they were comfortable enough together. But sometimes she looked like a lost child, unsure of where the adults had gone, as if she'd gotten lost in a supermarket, and then she'd laugh it off.

He wrapped himself in his blanket and stared out of the window where the raindrops made strange shadows on the curtain. He couldn't get that image out of his head, of her father gripping her arm so tight that she winced in pain. He'd wanted to step forward and punch him in the face and wrench her arm out of his grip, ask him what right he had to touch her like that, but he was too shocked by the way he was treating his own daughter. Ross picked up his phone and the lock screen melted away into Demelza's name at the top of his contact list. He pressed it and didn't even bother to hold the phone to his ear. He heard the faint ringing, and like before, no one answered. He set the phone back down next to his pillow and resolved to get up early the next day and go back to her house. Even if he got in a fight with her dad, it would be worth it to find out exactly what was going on.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun filtered in through his heavy curtains and made strange shapes on his ceiling. Ross stared at it before sitting up slowly. He'd waited the whole night for the sun to come up. He rubbed his eyes out of habit even though he'd barely closed them all night and swung his legs out of bed, picking up his phone to check for the hundredth time for a missed call from Demelza. He got up and opened the blinds, slitting his eyes against the sharp dawn as it peered over the hills. All was quiet down below and he watched from the window as the cold ground sent up a light fog just as it came in contact with the warm air. A clatter disrupted his thoughts and he looked down to see his horse being fed within the confines of his stable. Donning a fresh set of clothes and reflexively grabbing his bag, he crept down the stairs slowly so as not to disturb Verity still asleep in the next room. The cold air cut his face like a knife as he made his way outside to the stable, placing a hand on Jim's back.

"All full up?" he gestured towards the horse.

"Yes, Sir, Seamus has had his breakfast," replied Jim in surprise, turning around to view Ross, "and you? Have you had breakfast? Why are you up so early, Sir?"

"Busy day, lots to do," explained Ross airily and with a smile, began to saddle Seamus up.

Clipping the final fixture of the saddle, he swung himself up on it.

"If Verity asks for me, tell her I've gone out and will be back shortly," he called to Jim, riding out of the enclosure at a slight canter. Jim stared after him. He was never one to be able to guess the moods of Ross Poldark.

It was a short and smooth ride to Demelza's house, but she was nowhere to be seen. When he reached the back of the house, he jumped off his saddle and climbed the drainpipe a little to be able to peek into her bedroom. He could see no one there and no obvious shape on the bed that indicated she was asleep. The curtains were also open and the room looked untouched. He furrowed his brow and jumped down, saddling up and riding the short way to the stable where he'd seen her last the night before. The door was closed as he'd left it and the two horses left inside were asleep, with no sign of Demelza. Ross sighed and pushed his hair back from his face, getting his fingers caught in the rough tangles. His mind was wandering all sorts of places. What if this was some sort of Criminal Minds shit? Had her father hurt her worse that what he'd seen last night? He was tempted to knock on the door and ask her father in person but he knew no good would come of that. His phone was still blank and he looked around the vast expanse of greenery. It was the earliest of early mornings and not a soul was visible. He knew there was no point looking for Demelza anywhere but his mind was still agitated. Something wasn't right and that horrible gnawing feeling wasn't going anywhere until he found her. As one of her friends, maybe Verity knew something about Demelza's whereabouts or her relationship with her father. She usually woke early, so it wouldn't be long till she was at the breakfast table, a thought which brightened Ross as he rode back home.

The fog obscured his path and he groaned and pulled at Seamus' reigns. Just before the sun came out fully, the fog was always at its thickest, which made for a beautiful sight from his bedroom window but was hell to travel in, whether on foot or on horse. It was hard to tell where exactly he was, all he could see was field all around him, covered in a thick layer of fog. He knew where he was going, but he just didn't know where he was.

"Lost?"

Ross' ears pricked up and spun his head around quickly. It was Demelza's voice, he knew it.

"You really should have brushed your hair. It looks like you slept in the barn with the horses."

He turned to his right and saw Demelza emerging out of the fog clumsily. She looked exhausted. She was still dressed in last nights' clothes and carried a small bag with her. Her face was paler than usual and her sleeves were pulled down to cover her hands from the cold, yet her body was visibly shivering. Her breath rose in little clouds from her chapped lips, which she had contorted into a smile as she commented on his appearance. She laughed quietly at her own joke and then the laughter died down slowly. What struck Ross most about the way she looked wasn't her dirty clothes, muddied at the knees and almost everywhere else, or even her puffy, red eyes, but the bruise flowering over her skin like a drop of ink spreading over tissue paper. The neck of her jumper was pulled down over her shoulder where he had left it the night before, but it was torn even further now, exposing her upper arm marked by a large bruise in the shape of a tight grip. Her left cheek was red and her lip was split, making it painful for her to smile.

"Who did this to you?"

Ross' voice wasn't kind or caring, or even comical as it sometimes was during their conversations. It was low and hoarse, barely a whisper. The intensity of it made Demelza look up at him.

"No one," she shrugged carelessly, though they both knew the answer.

"You're coming with me."

He held his hand out and looked straight ahead at the fog. He wasn't able to look at her right now, he just wanted her to do what he'd said. To his surprise, she didn't argue. She didn't utter a single world, but placed her hand in his and used him as a support to clamber up onto his horse, sitting in front of him. She clasped her bag to her chest as he set his arms either side of her to grip the reigns with his gloved hands. She felt his legs squeeze the horse's flank gently and they set off.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

His voice was final and quiet, and she decided against saying anything, gripping her bag for comfort as the horse's movement jolted her up and down calmly. She stared ahead at the fog, her mind going blank. She didn't know what was going on anymore. All she knew was that she was tired, hungry and in a lot of pain. Her face hurt and her arm hurt and she felt cold. She shielded her face from the wind by looking down at the horse's glossy mane and Ross' hands gripping the reigns loosely. All of a sudden, the horse ground to a halt. She raised her head and looked around, but they were nowhere near civilisation yet. The sound of hooves made her look straight ahead and out of the fog appeared two horses with their riders. One was a man with dirty blond hair and a curious look on his face, and the other was a beautiful woman, with curly, dark hair and dark eyes. Both were wearing jodhpurs and riding jackets, carrying crops in their hands as if they were going on a hunt.

"Ross? What are you doing here?" asked the girl, staring at him in apparent astonishment.

The horse scuffed the ground and Ross pulled the reigns up, looking over at the pair. The silence was painful, but Demelza couldn't stop staring at them. She was so pretty.

"Francis. Elizabeth," acknowledged Ross curtly, "I didn't know you went riding this early."

"There's a hunt we've been invited to down towards the estate," gestured Francis with his crop through the fog needlessly, "but why are you out at this time in the morning? Art, is it?"

Francis' tone was condescending and he was clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice. Ross narrowed his eyes and gripped the reigns tighter, causing his arms to constrict around Demelza.

"I was looking for something," he started quietly, staring at both of them pointedly, "having found it….I'm going home."

Without explaining himself, he took off and rode home wordlessly. The journey was difficult for Demelza, who slumped back against Ross after a few minutes, still clutching her bag sleepily. As they reached home, Ross motioned over to Jim, who stared in surprise and jogged over, rolling his sleeves up.

"Oh, Sir, what have you done?"

Ross stared down at him in equal surprise.

"What have I done? You talk like I'm a serial killer or something. Come, now, help me with her, we must get her inside."

Ross carefully manuevered himself away from Demelza and swung himself off the horse, supporting her sleeping body with one hand. Jim grasped Seamus' reigns which allowed Ross to pull Demelza off the horse, carrying her inside and all the way upstairs to a spare bedroom. He didn't have enough free hands to pull the blanket off the bed, so decided to lay her down flat and drape a throw over her carefully. He gently freed her bag from her and set it down on the side of the bed, creeping out to shut the door. Taking his gloves off, he turned around to meet the stare of a barely-surprised Verity, munching on a triangle of buttered toast.

"It's…..seven AM and there's a girl I don't know in a bed in our house. Not a new thing, but I would like an explanation."

Ross shushed her and took her arm with a gloved hand, walking downstairs with her until he got to the breakfast table.

"I am so hungry," he muttered, sitting down and finally de-gloving, piling scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and mushrooms onto his plate. Verity watched him in amusement as he dithered over whether to add sausages or not. He thought the better of it and started munching. "This is awful, do you know that? Now I know why you're eating toast, the food is atrocious."

"It's not my fault you decided to move out of your residency accommodation and live here. I was quite peaceful all by myself, you know. You can talk all you like about the food, but thank goodness Francis and Aunt and Uncle live somewhere else, could you imagine if they were on our backs all the time?"

Ross considered that and shrugged as he shoved scrambled egg in his mouth.

"Pass us some juice, will you?"

Verity stared at him over her unfinished toast. She tied her dressing gown tighter around herself.

"Juice later. Explanation now."

He didn't stop munching as he talked, unattractively spooning beans into his mouth mid-sentence. Ross had never been one for etiquette. Practicality over appearance, he always said.

"That's not just some girl, that's Demelza. I don't know what's going on, I hoped you would have some answers. I was painting with her last night and all of a sudden, her father came out of nowhere and basically started abusing her, yelling at her and dragging her out. I tried calling her all night and this morning but no one responded and I went to her house, but she wasn't there. On the ride home, I found her wandering around the field carrying a bag full of her stuff and she was in a bad way, Verity. There was a bruise on her arm from where he'd grabbed her and I think he hit her in the face, her cheek was red and her lip was bleeding. She looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept all night and she was freezing cold."

Verity's face had turned into a deep frown and she sat down, tossing her toast onto her plate as she listened to Ross' story.

"Do you know anything about this?" he asked quietly, setting his spoon down.

"No…." murmured Verity, shaking her head and looking at the table, "no, she's never told me anything about that….all she used to say was that her father was a vicar in the local church and I've only met him once. I went to pick her up from her house and he was sitting in front of the TV with a bottle of….something. She ushered me out of there pretty quickly…"

"I'll have a word with her when she's woken up," stated Ross, downing his juice, "and get that father of hers arrested for assault. He could be charged for grievous bodily harm, you know."

"No, Ross," Verity's voice became stern as she met his eye, "you are not going to go around meddling in her life. Now you will stay here and go about your day as normal. I'll see to her. She'll need food and new clothes and all of that."

Verity stood up and dusted off her gown, making mental plans in her head for what would fit Demelza in her wardrobe.

"I'm going to go change. By the way, I think Jim has a thing for Jinny. Have a chat with him, will you?" she called as she strode out of the room. Ross stopped mid-bite and turned around to stare at Jinny in the kitchen, who laughed and came in to pick up the dirty dishes. Ross laughed too and sat back in his chair, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

"Jim, Jinny? Really?"

"He's not that bad, you know, Sir."

Ross thought he saw her blush a little as she picked up the tray of untouched sausages. She looked down at them and back up at Ross.

"The cook is….incapacitated for a while from today," she stated, straightening her apron purposefully.

Ross stared at her.

"What? Why?"

She picked up a bowl of beans in the other hand and stomped back into the kitchen.

"I don't know about you, Sir, but not all of us like eating terrible food."

Ross was not in a good mood. That was nothing new, but he usually didn't like being in a bad mood when he was on his way home. Teaching always made him happy and today, he'd been lecturing for an hour on his favourite subject: Dante Gabriel Rossetti. What was better was that the entire lecture theatre had seemed entranced, which for him, was the only reaction to such genius. All his happy dissipated quickly when he stepped out of the lecture theatre and saw Elizabeth and Francis walking along together, laughing their heads off. He had a few options. He could stay where he was until they passed, or he could walk the other way towards the centre of town. However, he didn't feel like hiding, nor did he feel like taking the long way to his house, so he strode out confidently and began walking down the path towards the fields. Elizabeth and Francis both called out to him but he didn't respond, walking on as if he couldn't hear or didn't care. He didn't really know which he was pretending to do.

Elizabeth hadn't been in his good books since she'd started going out with Francis. The story itself was very simple from Ross' perspective. He'd gone to America to study for a year at Parsons, and they'd promised all that long distance deal, but when he came back, the fact was unceremoniously dumped on him at a family dinner. Francis, his own cousin, was dating his now-ex-girlfriend. It was a moment just like the one he'd experience leaving the lecture theatre, mused Ross as he strode along the border of a field. He was happy to be coming home after so long and sitting down at his welcome dinner with his family only bolstered his joy, until his uncle and Elizabeth's mother announced nothing other than Elizabeth and Francis' engagement. He'd only been gone for a year.

She hadn't understood. She didn't even try to understand his perspective. When he'd cornered her, asked her why she'd done what she'd done, her only reply was that she wasn't sure he'd ever come back. Which was true, he had dithered about staying there for longer, but in his defence, he would have come back at some time. The memories of Elizabeth were what drew him back, otherwise what was there for him in Cornwall? He was sick of being a Poldark, of living with his Aunt and Uncle in that stupid mansion full of do's and don'ts and what's right and what's not. His mother had passed when he was young and the only immediate family he had was his father. His eyes and mind clouded over at the thought and resentment for his aunt and uncle grew. Six whole months, they hid the fact that his father had died. He'd been weak when he left, he knew he didn't have long, but the doctors had told him he had a few years at least. It was their duty, they should have told him. But their excuse was the same as Elizabeth's. We didn't know if you were going to come back or not. What would it have mattered if he was in Cornwall or America? It was his father and he had a right to know. He had no siblings, no parents, nobody. All he had left in the world was Verity.

"Ross! What's wrong? What happened?"

Ross threw his bag on the couch and wiped his eyes roughly on his arm.

"Fuck them all, Verity. Fuck them all, I hate each and every one of them. They can burn in hell for all I care."

Verity sighed as Ross stamped out of the room and up the stairs. She sat down and dragged his bag onto her lap. She knew it hadn't been easy for him and she knew that her parents hadn't done the right thing. She'd tried to persuade them but hey, who listened to Verity? Her father had been the man of the house and Francis had learned his twisted sense of justice and arrogance, which was mainly why Verity had decided to share a house with Ross instead. Ross could be temperamental and principled to the point of stupidity, but at least he was kind, and cared for Verity. He'd always treated her like a little sister, when he'd had no family of his own. It was cruel of her parents to treat him the way they had, and of her brother, who had been Ross' childhood playmate, to decide Elizabeth would be the best for him. But there was nowhere to lay blame here. Everyone was equally at fault, herself included. If only Ross had never gone to America, if only he'd have come back early, if only Elizabeth's mother hadn't been after pushing her daughter towards the rich Francis Poldark, if only Elizabeth had a little bit of hope that Ross would come back. There were too many if onlys to make anything right again.

"Was that Ross?"

Verity looked up to find Demelza holding a steaming pie dish with oven gloves. A loud crash was heard from above and Demelza flinched at the noise, almost dropping the pie.

"Everything's fine, Demelza, don't worry. Why don't you help Jinny set the table?"

Verity's smile was short and polite as she got up and spun out of the room, standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Ross?"

There was no sound from above.

"Ross? Ross!"

She ran upstairs as fast as her lace ups could carry her, opening up his door quickly. He looked up at her slowly, his unruly hair cast over his face, his shirt untucked and his desk overturned. Papers lay everywhere, some finding refuge under the bed, some scattered about his feet like snow. Pots of paint had made sharp splashes on the floor, mixing into unsightly dark colours along with smashed bottles of ink. Shattered glass twinkled among the paint and brushes like artwork in itself, and several of Ross' works in progress, some only requiring finishing touches, lay torn and destroyed on his bed.

"I'm fine," he whispered, looking at her through his hair, "I'm fine."

Verity bit her lip and walked forward slowly, stepping over the glass and paper. She wrapped her arms around him tight and for a second, he didn't move. She didn't care, she just wanted to hug him, to make him feel like someone was there for him. After a long pause, she felt Ross' arms around her too as he leaned down and grabbed handfuls of her hoodie, clinging to her tight, his face buried in her shoulder. She took in a deep breath of air as his body began to heave heavily, quiet sobs wracking his chest.

"I'm fine…." he whispered over and over into her shoulder, "I'm fine. I'm fine."


	4. Chapter 4

Ross and Verity came downstairs slowly after waiting for Ross' red eyes and nose to recede. Verity had told him he looked like Rudolph, which had helped to cheer him up. They were greeted by the sight of Demelza sitting timidly at the table, which was laid with a veritable feast. Pies, roast beef, vegetables, potatoes and gravy made the table creak.

"I was thinking of calling you, it was getting cold," explained Demelza unnecessarily, gesturing to the table.

"It all looks fantastic," said Ross warmly, sitting down at the head of the table as Verity took her seat. All three began to help themselves in silence, passing the dishes around among themselves until everyone's plate was made and they were ready to eat.

Ross loaded his fork with a bit of everything and shoved it unceremoniously in his mouth before his knife-wielding hand was nudged by Verity, who raised her eyebrows towards Demelza and put her own cutlery down.

"For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful."

Demelza unclasped her hands and tucked into her plate. Ross stared. Verity grinned.

"Do you…..do you say grace before every meal?" he inquired, finishing the bite in his mouth.

"Yes," she said in surprise, "well….Dad forces me to. I don't see the point of it, really. It's not as if God's up there waiting for you to start eating your meat and two veg."

Ross snorted and loaded another fork, looking her over in the process. She had changed her clothes and he recognised her black jumper from Verity's closet. Her face looked better than this morning too, the redness had died down and the cut on her lip was barely noticeable. Sleep had fixed a myriad of problems and she looked much fresher and brighter now, though more quiet than he'd ever known her.

"Well, you don't have to say it when you're here. You don't have to do anything you don't want, in fact. How are you feeling?"

The last question was tacked on the end rather badly, but it was the best he had after a long day. He'd been awake since 5:30 and his head was starting to hurt.

"I'm feeling good," she replied with a small smile, "much better after eating something. Verity made me some food while you were away at the university."

"Well, I'm glad, because her food is much better than our previous cook. I was gonna tell you about that, Vee, Jinny came in after breakfast this morning and told me she hates the food, so the cook's going to be 'incapacitated' for a while. I'm glad you picked up the mantle, something needed to be done. The pie is first class, by the way," he pointed his dirty fork in the direction of the half eaten pie dish, "that is one of the best pies I've ever had. You should cook more, you know, it won't kill you."

He made his way through his plate again and Verity had tried to open her mouth to say something during his speech, but as usual, Ross wouldn't allow anyone a word in edgeways. Jinny strode in and placed a fresh gravy boat on the table, picking up the now empty one.

"Actually, it was Demelza, not Verity, Sir. She's a very good cook and offered to chip in during the illness."

Ross stared at Demelza mid-bite. She smiled at him cautiously.

"I am glad you like my food, though, Ross."

Ross looked from Verity to Demelza to Jinny, then back again. All three women bit their lips to stop their grinning at his expression. He swallowed and turned back to his plate again.

"Yes, well, Jinny, that's….maybe we could make sure the illness is…..you know….given a long course of treatment."

"Right you are, Sir."

Verity and Demelza laughed, tucking into their plates. The atmosphere seemed much lighter now, and Ross was all the happier for it.

The evening wound on slowly and it wasn't long before all three of them were resting in the living room. Ross stoked the fire carefully, sipping his tea and leaning back against his chair.

"How was the class today, Ross?" asked Verity lazily, flipping a page in her book.

"Good, good. It was great, actually, got loads of attention. A few of the students said they'd be writing their theses on him, so it was useful in that regard."

"And your commissions?"

Ross looked at her and she looked back. They full well knew he'd all but destroyed the paintings he'd been working on in his bedroom.

"I'm working on it," he replied, turning away to pick up the remote. He turned the TV on and flicked channels noisily, causing Verity to sigh and put her book down. She looked over at Demelza, who had been quiet all this time, playing with her hair and staring into the fire like she was watching a ballet performance in it.

"Demelza?"

Verity's voice was quiet, but Demelza picked up on it and looked at her.

"Why don't you let me brush your hair out for you? You've got loads of tangles," she offered, getting up and fetching a pearl-handled hairbrush from a sideboard. She sat on the sofa and patted the space between her legs. Demelza smiled and sat down on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chin while Verity untied her hair and set the hair elastic aside, picking up the ends of her hair and brushing them out carefully.

"You've got such beautiful hair. I always wished I had hair like you."

"Big and orange?" said Demelza with a small smile.

"No, curly and long," replied Verity cheerfully, setting sections of her over her lap to brush out gently.

"What am I supposed to do, Verity?" whispered Demelza all of a sudden, setting her chin on her arms, "what am I supposed to do? I don't want to go back home, but I know I have to see my father, say so—"

"No one's seeing your father," came a thundery voice from the chair in front of the fire.

Both Demelza and Verity looked up at Ross in surprise.

"No one's seeing your father," he repeated, staring straight ahead at the TV, "not me, not Verity and certainly not you."

Verity glared at him and made neck slicing motions. She'd spent all day trying to make Demelza feel safe and cared for, and here was Ross fucking it all up while his temper got the better of him. He turned to stare at Verity, a look which made it plain he wasn't planning on complying with her advice.

"But I have to see him at some point, Ross, I have to get my things and some money, find a place to live and—"

"No one is seeing your father. You can buy whatever you want and you're living here."

"I can't just live here, this isn't my house!" protested Demelza, staring up at Ross with incredulity, "I only came here because you brought me here and I have no plans to gatecrash and stay for longer than one or two nights. I want to find a place of my own, I can't just live here like a freeloader. I need to get a job, make some money, find a place. At least until then."

Ross kicked his legs up onto a footstool and sipped his tea, flicking the channel over to a serious documentary about corporate tax evasion.

"You can work here as a cook. We'll pay you if you really want us to. Happy?"

Demelza stared at him, then turned to look at Verity.

"Is he serious?"

"One thing I've learned…if he's not smiling, he's serious," replied Verity, running her brush through Demelza's fiery curls, "besides, that's what you want, right? A job and money and a place to stay? We're all for you staying here but if you desperately want a job and money, you can have it. As long as you promise how to teach me to bake those delicious pies."

Demelza blinked and turned back around to face front, letting Verity brush every inch of her hair until there was no more resistance left. She thought it through….it wasn't a bad offer. Cooking was something she was good at and enjoyed, and it wouldn't really be work if she was cooking for two of her friends. Jinny had been so helpful in the kitchen and she could see how friendly she was with Ross and Verity. It would be better than pulling pints and getting harassed at the local pub, or stacking shelves at the supermarket where she was bound to run into her father. She knew telling him where she is was the right thing to do, but she had no desire to do the right thing. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible and what was wrong with living here after all? The house was large and beautiful, she had her own big bedroom and two friends who cared about her. She'd never really had any girlfriends and Verity was someone she'd see semi-regularly, so the thought of sharing a place with her was exciting. Perhaps she'd get to do all those friend things, like going shopping together and doing each other's make up. She smiled at that and rested her head down on her arms again, just enjoying the repetitive feeling of pulling and letting go as Verity brushed over and over.

"There we go," came a soft voice, "it's all nice and soft now….do you want to go to sleep?"

Verity's voice was no more than a whisper and Demelza's eyes took a few seconds to open. She furrowed her eyebrows and looked around in confusion. The room was darker than before, the fire was barely burning and the TV was off.

"How long was I asleep?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes vigorously.

"Only fifteen minutes," responded Verity with a laugh, "but it is late and you should get some rest. Ross has class again tomorrow but he doesn't sleep till the early hours. Come up to bed with me."

Verity crawled off the sofa and Demelza followed, her steps slightly unsteady as she realised she was genuinely very sleepy.

"Night night, Ross!" called Verity as she took Demelza's hand and pulled her upstairs. He barely looked up from his book as he yelled 'night!' back without any sense of expression or feeling. Demelza looked at Verity as they went upstairs.

"I've never seen him at home before. Is he always so emotionless?"

"No, of course not," Verity laughed, "he's just tired. You know what he's like, he can be quite funny but only when he's in the mood. Mostly he's quite serious. He's an artist after all, and everyone knows how crazy they can get."

Between words, Demelza realised they'd found their way into Verity's bedroom. She stood awkwardly as Verity fished in her cupboard for clothes.

"I wanted to get some nightclothes out for you earlier but I was just so busy, what with the cook being ill and then Francis called and told me that Dad's not feeling too great, so I was—"

"Francis?" cut in Demelza curiously, "Is he your brother?"

"Yeah, Ross said you saw him this morning with Elizabeth. Found them!"

She appeared from the closet with a bundle in her hand and a grin on her face, setting it down on the bed.

"So we've got pyjamas and a nightdress. The….the pyjamas do have….My Little Ponies on them, but….you know, they'll fit you. I am sorry for the lack of variety, though, I promise I'll take you shopping to buy you more stuff tomorrow. Maybe not the My Little Ponies for tonight? And let's take the gown too because it's cold."

She shoved the white and black dress and gown into Demelza's hands. Demelza looked down at it.

"It might seem like maternity, but it's not, I promise, it's just meant to be oversize and comfortable," encouraged Verity. A hint of pleading was detectable in her voice.

"I can't wear this," said Demelza, looking down at it, "It's the kind of thing you'd wear if you were Marilyn Monroe answering the door at midnight."

"Well, do you want the My Little Pony?" asked Verity, holding up an ugly lilac fabric printed with large, rainbow toy horses.

"I'll take the Marilyn Monroe," said Demelza with wide eyes. Verity nodded and took her into her bedroom, folding the throw that had been her blanket.

"It is cold tonight, so use the throw if you need it. I'm in the room next door and Ross is across the landing, so if you need one of us, just shout. The bathroom's en suite, just through this door. Take your time. Like I said, Ross has class tomorrow and I might go and visit my dad, so you'll have time to have a lie in and a lazy morning," grinned Verity, "anyway. Have some rest now, okay? Goodnight, sweetie."

She blew Demelza a kiss and left the room. Demelza laughed to herself as she got undressed. Verity really was the sweetest person in the world, so selfless and caring. She was glad she had a friend like her. As she laid her carefully folded jeans down next to her jumper, she stared at the mass of silk and lace on the bed. She held it up in front of her. The neck hole was big enough to accommodate her entire body, but she shrugged and slipped it on. Soon, she was swimming in yards of fabric, which pooled around her feet like she was a melting snowman. She pulled on the gown and tied it tight in the hope that it would compress the fabric a little, but the gown brought its own problems with its wide and unwieldy sleeves. She stared at herself in the mirror and strangely liked what she saw. She felt like a heroine in an old Hollywood movie and the outfit was surprisingly comfortable. She broke into a wide smile as she spread her arms out like an angel, watching the fabric fall elegantly, then gripped the skirt of her gown, twirling it around her over and over. She changed her mind. She loved being Marilyn Monroe.

She twirled around herself giddily until she was brought down to earth by crashing abruptly into the chest of drawers by the wall. She bit her lip to stop herself crying out in excruciating pain. The side of the chest of drawers had jammed right into the tender bruise on her upper arm. She grabbed it with her opposite hand and sat down on the bed, breathing in and out slowly to stop herself from crying at the pain. She was afraid to let go, worried that it would perhaps bleed or fall off if she removed her hand, but she mustered the courage to lift the neck of her night gown and look down at it. It was darker than she remembered it, and had spread further down her arm. A coppery taste flooded her mouth and she realised she'd opened up the cut on her lip while biting down on it. She wiped it with her hand but it wasn't enough, and she didn't want to get the nightgown dirty, let alone get blood on it. All she needed was a tissue and some antiseptic, which conveniently wasn't in her bedroom. Verity was probably asleep by now and she didn't want to disturb her by asking her where the first aid box was, but with any luck, it would be in the kitchen where it was supposed to be. The landing was dark so she guessed everyone had gone to sleep, but that didn't stop the stairs from creaking, no matter how carefully she tried going down them. As she passed the living room, she noticed that the fire was totally out but a small light near the fireplace was on, perhaps unknowingly left by Ross before he'd gone upstairs. She resolved to turn it out after she saw to her lip and crept into the kitchen carefully. The tiles were cold under her bare feet, but she narrowed her eyes against the dark and reached out to feel what was on the worktop.

"Looking for something?"

She muffled a cry as she turned around and clutched at her chest.

"Ross!" she whispered angrily, "you scared me!"

He laughed and stepped forward, moving from a faceless silhouette to his usual smiling image.

"Sorry. But seriously, what are you doing down here in the kitchen? Are you still hungry? Surely you're not still hungry after everything we just ate but I know your appetite, you j…."

His train of inappropriate monologue derailed as he saw Demelza properly in the light from the corridor. Blood was making its way slowly from her lip down to her jaw. He gritted his teeth and his own jaw tightened. Reaching across the worktop, he grabbed the first aid box without any need to look at it, taking Demelza's arm along with it and pulling both into the living room.

"Sit," he stated, motioning to the couch as he opened up the first aid box. Once again, she knew better than to argue, so sat down quietly, waiting for him to get everything in order. He didn't speak as he wiped the blood away and doused a cotton pad in antiseptic, dabbing it over her lip. She winced at the stinging sensation.

"Man up," he murmured, tossing the used pad aside, drying her lip with a tissue, "now show me your arm."

"My arm's fine," she said defiantly, "thank you for sorting out my lip. It's late and—"

"Show me your arm, Demelza. That wasn't a question."

She sighed and stuck her arm out. The sleeve of her gown flapped comically. Ross glared at her.

"I'm not fucking around, Demelza. And what the hell is this thing anyway? Where did you find this, a theatre wardrobe?"

"Verity gave it to me, I think it's hers. Don't make fun of it," she sniffed, retracting her arm, "I like it."

"Okay, fine, you like it," said Ross quietly, changing tack, "now can you show me your arm?"

The softly softly approach didn't seem to work and Demelza receded into herself, enveloping her body in the vast gown, hiding away from Ross. Her eyes were downcast and she didn't know what to say to him. She didn't want to show him her arm, she didn't want him to see how badly she was hurt and then try and punch out her father or something. She'd seen Ross' temper only once, when a man had been misbehaving with Verity. It hadn't been pretty. She also felt odd, Ross had always viewed her body as a prop to paint and she'd never thought of herself as otherwise. She was his model and after he'd excelled at his graduation, he'd asked her if she could model for him consistently, to which she'd agreed. But that was it.

"Please, Demelza."

A quiet voice brought her out of her thoughts and she opened her eyes to see Ross' face level with hers, his gaze slightly softer, his voice a thousand times quieter.

"I'm only going to put a little bit of cream on it, I promise, I'll be really gentle, okay? It won't hurt and if it does, you let me know."

The room was strangely quiet in response to Ross' uncharacteristically soft voice and Demelza looked at him, hesitantly uncurling from herself. He took this as a positive sign and waited for Demelza to show him her upper arm, taking the pot of cream out of the box. The sandy rasp as he twisted the lid open filled the air harshly and Demelza flinched slightly. She stared across the room at the chair in which Ross had been sitting earlier in the evening and finally realised where that light had been coming from. The old lantern he had given her to carry in the barn was sitting atop a pile of books, casting a friendly, warm glow over the room.

"You still use that?" she murmured, gesturing limply towards the lamp, "It wasn't just for the painting?"

"Of course I still use it. There are a lot of old things that are still in perfect working order in Nampara," he said, setting the lid and tub down.

"Nampara? That's the name of the house?"

"Yes. It's battered and bruised and old, but it's still my home and like that lamp, it's still in perfect working order. We might have to fix the heating and….do some insulation work, but it's what my father left me," he said lifelessly, "but where my aunt and uncle live, down the road, that's Trenwith."

He pronounced the name with sarcastic pomp, raising his eyebrows emphatically.

"Trenwith, I know that one. The old family seat of the Poldarks," said Demelza, smiling a little.

"Yeah. Old and senile," muttered Ross, picking up the tub and setting it on his lap, "now come closer, let me see."

Demelza had untied her gown and her arm was aching. Even the limp motion she had made a few seconds earlier wasn't possible now and she tiredly tried to push the sleeve of the gown off her shoulder.

"Let me."

Ross moved forward and brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing it carefully before gently removing her gown and the shoulder of her nightdress. The neckline was so big that it fell effortlessly down to expose the large, now black bruise on her upper arm. It looked like an ink bottle from his desk had smashed over her arm and dyed the area dark blue. The colour looked odd against her pristine, pale skin. She shivered from the cold in the large room and was aware of Ross' gaze on her. She squeezed her arm close to her, looking away in humiliation. What was he thinking? It was never possible to read his face, to know what he thought of her at any given moment. He said they were friends but she never really understood the real Ross, nor had she ever understood what opinion he kept of her.

"Does it hurt?" came his emotionless voice.

She nodded a little and flinched, gripping a handful of her gown tightly as he began to spread cream over it. He was trying to be as gentle as possible, but even a little friction and pressure caused her unimaginable pain. He said nothing as he finished up, but he didn't pull the gown back over her shoulder. Instead, he lifted a hand and cupped just under her chin with his thumb and fingers, placing his thumb right over where he could feel her pulse. He turned her head carefully up and to the side, as if was positioning it to his liking for a portrait.

"You've got a pattern of bruises on your jaw," he remarked quietly, narrowing his eyes to cast her face more into the light.

She didn't respond, but he brushed his other thumb lightly over jaw, spreading a thin layer of cream on it until he was satisfied.

"It'll take a while to heal, but the cream should help lessen the appearance of the bruised area," he murmured instructively as he assessed the rest of her face and neck for bruises, moving the thumb of his other hand over her skin deftly to check for pain. He let go after a few seconds and packed up the first aid kit as Demelza sat quietly.

"I smell charcoal."

"Yeah, I was just working on a sketch," he muttered, closing the box with a click, "I need you to sit for me tomorrow. If you want to, that is."

"Of course."

Her smile was polite as she watched him fumbling with the box, leaving dark, smudgy marks all over it from his charcoal stained fingers.

"Chiaroscuro?" she offered quietly, trying to catch his eye.

She smiled as she saw the corners of his mouth lift a little. He had been far too serious today and she'd found herself missing his familiar grin.

"Yeah, chiaroscuro," he said, smiling a fraction, getting up to set the box on the table, "but now it's too late. Up to bed."

He said nothing as he turned on his heel and walked away without even so much as a motion to follow him. She smiled and got up, holding her gown around her as she walked to the stairs, hearing Ross' footsteps already trudging up lazily. She followed him to the landing and finally stood outside her room, waving at him.

"Goodnight."

He turned at the sound of her voice and looked her over in the dim light of the landing. He walked towards her and she raised her eyebrows in surprise. She wasn't expecting that. She was waiting for a goodnight and then turning to go into her bedroom. His stride was purposeful and Demelza felt almost panicked. She didn't know what to do. Her instinct was to move towards him too, or perhaps open the door behind her and disappear into her room quickly. Was he going to kiss her goodnight or something? Maybe she'd watched too many movies, but that was the kind of thing that happened after an evening like that.

Nothing of the sort happened, though, but that didn't serve to dissipate the dizziness Demelza was feeling as Ross came impossibly close to her. He'd never been that close, not even when setting her up for a portrait. She looked up at him hesitantly, her eyes searching his unreadable face for any sign of feeling, of notification for what he was going to do, but his eyes were dark, almost clouded over as he lifted his hand. He shifted his head very slightly to the side as he reached out and pressed his thumb against her jaw, pushing her head up again. He slid his thumb slowly over her jaw, applying a slight pressure until he got to her chin.

"Charcoal marks," he whispered quietly, slipping his fingers down, "on your neck, by accident…."

She closed her eyes and her grip on her gown loosened a little as she once more enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on her neck. She felt him lean forward, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body, his uneven breath against her skin as he trailed his fingers over the side of her neck, first lightly, then applying some pressure, working his way back up to her jaw. Her own breathing became uneven and she parted her lips a little, swallowing as if she couldn't take enough air in. That action made his eyes flick to the middle of her neck that moved slightly when she swallowed. He moved his hand to lightly grip her neck, cupping it in his hand, feeling her pulse under his palm. She let out a sharp breath at this, gripping her gown tightly. His hand felt warm and rough on her neck and it was larger than she had felt it previously. He didn't move it, but it buzzed with electricity and unused power. She'd seen him crush much bigger things with this one hand, but he merely ghosted it over her neck, observing the comparison between her pale, soft skin and his tanned, callused hands. He'd always liked this part of her neck, the middle of it, between her collarbones all the way up to her chin. He didn't know what it was about this part of her, the way she exposed it when she languidly tipped her head back sometimes during a long sitting….perhaps it was something about the vulnerability and delicacy of that part of the body. She tipped her head back slightly, almost as if she could read his mind. He liked that, he liked that she gave herself to him without a word, moving his thumb over to press and slide slowly down the middle of her neck, feeling her jugular vein pulse frantically under his touch. His entire body was on fire, it felt electric to touch such a vulnerable, intimate part of her in such an intimate way. The air around them fizzed with static. Her skin was so warm and soft under the tips of his fingers, he didn't feel like pulling away and losing that warmth. How wonderful it would be to have that with him all the time, he thought. He pulled away reluctantly and brought her eyes to face him by pulling her head down gently.

"Goodnight," he murmured, locking eyes with her for a split second before turning away and walking slowly into his room. He didn't give her a second look as he shut the door. His eyes were clouded over like before, as if he was away somewhere else while speaking to her. For some reason, she liked that.


	5. Chapter 5

Demelza flopped down on the couch and closed her eyes. Today had been one hell of a day, and that was something coming from her. She'd taken Verity's advice and had a lazy morning but Verity and Ross still hadn't come back by the time she'd finished her breakfast. She decided to take herself on a tour of the house, which brought even more cause for concern. The entire house was crumbling and only the rooms they used routinely were in any sort of order. There was damp, mould and collapsing furniture everywhere, not to mention peeling wallpaper in several of the rooms that looked like they hadn't been used in years. Before she had time to explain to Verity what she had been doing all morning, her friend arrived back home and dragged her back out for their promised shopping trip. There was nothing much to report there, Demelza insisted they only buy the basics. A few pairs of jeans, some t shirts, dresses, jumpers, underwear, shoes and socks. Verity had kept pulling her towards the fancy, expensive, going out dresses and accessories in every shop, but that wasn't really her thing. Demelza had always liked looking at them in the shop but she'd never really bought one, mainly because she'd never had the money (Verity had bought every item today and after much protest, made the excuse that it was out of Demelza's first pay check) and also because she was acutely aware she'd look stupid in it with her lanky legs and tall, gangly frame. She'd thought that being Ross' model would give her a newfound appreciation for her own appearance, but even Ross had remarked on her paleness and thinness during sittings. Granted, it was in a positive way and he always raved about her cheekbones, but it didn't hide the fact that she was visibly thin, and not in a haute couture way. Clothes looked baggy on her and no nice dress seemed to fit properly. It wasn't as if she'd have much cause to wear evening gowns or mini dresses here anyway, it wasn't like she was going out to the club. Did they even have clubs in Cornwall, she thought abstractly as she heard footsteps.

"Dinner's almost ready, just a few more minutes in the oven, Vee," called Demelza, sitting up and hoisting herself off the couch.

"I'm not Vee," came a voice, and she turned to see Ross with his back to her, setting his bag down by his chair.

Demelza stared and was suddenly self conscious. She fisted the cuffs of her jumper in her hands and shifted her feet nervously. It was the first time she'd seen him since last night and she didn't quite know what to say. She ventured that even if she was given years to think about it, she still wouldn't know what to say.

"How was class?"

"Good."

With that, he turned and strode out of the room without looking at her once. Demelza frowned to herself. Had she said or done something wrong? Verity had asked exactly the same question the previous evening and he hadn't gotten mad at her. She had no time to contemplate the inner workings of an artist's mind, though, because Verity bounded into the room like an overexcited baby deer.

"Come on, Demelza, let's go set dinner."

She basically dragged Demelza's now woolly hand to the kitchen and stared at the oven.

"Is it time now? Should we take it out?"

Demelza leaned over to look at it and nodded, handing Verity the oven gloves. Between them, the girls spent the next ten minutes carefully arranging the meal on the table while Ross took care of the drinks, disappearing soundlessly down into the cellar. He appeared again as if by magic, clutching a bottle of red wine and a second of whisky. He set both down on the table and sat down with his cutlery, playing mother and serving out slices. The room would have been totally quiet if it wasn't for Verity, who chattered loudly and happily about today's adventure. She started off with a story about how her father had been very ill when she had gone to see him this morning, but the doctor had visited and told Francis that he just needs to take it easy, so she sat and read him one of his favourite books until he fell asleep. Then she came home and took Demelza out to buy her some new clothes, and this was when Demelza wished the ground would swallow her up. She picked at her chicken as Verity continued babbling.

"But you only wanted the basic stuff, didn't you, Demelza? I kept asking her to buy those cute little sequinned dresses or those new jersey maxi dresses, they'd look so good on her, but she said she wanted loose silhouettes and nothing too flashy. I don't know why, honey, you'd look so good in something a little more form fitting. I saw such a cute little sequinned pink mini tuxedo dress, it was so Balmain, I just—"

"No sequins."

Ross cut in sharply and continued eating his food as if he'd never spoken. Verity stopped and stared at him.

"What? But why? And what interest could you possibly have in whether Demelza wears sequins or not?"

"If I have no interest, why are you telling me?"

Demelza couldn't resist a snort, but kept her head down and continued eating her food. Verity glared at them both.

"Oh, I see, very funny, both of you are taking the piss, aren't you? Look at Verity, gossiping away like an idiot. Well, I'm only doing it because you two have nothing interesting to add. And don't you start, Ross, all you ever say is; 'I woke up, painted a picture and went to sleep.'"

Demelza snorted again and looked up to see Ross staring at Verity with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, because that's what I do."

"Then keep doing it, what do I care?"

"I don't care if you care or not, who asked your opinion?"

"I don't care if you asked for it or not, you're getting it."

By this point, Demelza couldn't resist and began laughing loudly, setting her fork down. Her laugh was even louder and higher as it echoed around the room, with both Verity and Ross looking at her in surprise.

"You're both so childish!" she laughed, wiping her weeping eyes with her hand, "You bicker like little kids!"

"She's the kid," declared Ross, stabbing a used fork in Verity's direction.

"Oh, and you're my babysitter, are you?"

Demelza continued laughing intermittently as she ate, her eyes flicking back and forth between Ross and Verity's friendly retorts. It was nice to feel like she was a part of something. Not quite a family, but something.

Soon, dinner was over and Ross grabbed the unopened bottle of whisky from the table.

"You have some rest, Verity. I need to work on a new canvas, so I'm taking the night."

He got up and motioned for Demelza to follow him.

"But I need to clean up, I need to wash the dishes," explained Demelza, gesturing to the pile on the table.

"Jinny can do that. I asked if you wanted to model today and you said yes. If you don't, that's fine, but you need to let me know."

"No, no, I'm fine, I can do it."

She got up and straightened out her jumper as Jinny came in to deal with the dishes and leftover food. Verity began helping out and grinned surreptitiously at Demelza.

"I'm gonna give Jinny a hand and then maybe I'll get to watch my recorded Game of Thrones," she said, picking up a plate of pie, "now go on, Ross is in a bit of a mood today, you'd better practise your sitting still skills."

Demelza managed a small smile and waved Verity off, following Ross upstairs. She reached the landing and his voice was sharp.

"Come on, quickly."

She picked up the pace and jogged a little, her hands still full of her jumper cuffs as she followed him into his bedroom. She stopped at the doorway and looked around. It was the first time she'd ever seen something as personal as his bedroom and she was surprised. It was normal. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it just like a normal bedroom. The sheets were a little wrinkly, but it was tidy nonetheless. There was a double four poster bed like Verity's and a desk by the window, full of papers and ink and paint and brushes, and the dark wooden floor was covered with rugs here and there. Wardrobes and a chest of drawers stood against the walls, but the place was spotless. The fireplace was large and took up one wall entirely and like the living room downstairs, the fire was raging merrily. The crackling sound of burning wood filled the room and it was dark save for the light coming from the flames. Ross was busy fixing a large standing candelabra type structure over by the fireplace, lighting each candle meticulously and using the same lighter to start up a cigarette. He didn't speak to Demelza or even acknowledge her as he moved his stand and canvas over near the mantelpiece, setting up a convenient table next to him with brushes of different shapes and sizes and a set of paints, water, charcoal and pencils.

She caught a whiff of the smoke he exhaled and he took another drag, stepping back to analyse the placement of his canvas and props, narrowing his eyes as he pushed his hair back from his forehead.

"Looks good," he murmured to himself, his lace up boots making grainy sounds on the wooden floor as he walked around his set up. He held his cigarette delicately between his lips as he rolled up the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt. He only had one nice shirt which he wore to teach but he never took any care of it, hence why it was creased. Demelza watched as he unbuttoned the first two buttons to allow him to breathe and stepped back again. He seemed satisfied. He turned around and stared.

"What are you doing there? Come on."

She stepped in and awkwardly made her way into the middle of the setting Ross had created. He sighed at her signature posture; sleeves fisted in hands, boots pointed inwards and eyes on the ground. Her outfit wasn't ideal for what he had in mind either.

"Go change. No jeans, something softer with a better drape."

She walked out quickly and into her bedroom, grateful for some time alone. By the time she'd reappeared, Ross had finished most of his cigarette and sat on the bed, waiting for her. She'd chosen a full length white dress made entirely of several layers of lace. She stood awkwardly again. Ross said nothing.

"I know it looks really silly but I don't have any fancy dresses or anything flowy and I bought it today with Verity because I liked the gown she lent me last night, so I thought I should buy some more like that because I did need some summer clothes after all and—"

Ross raised a hand to cut her off and she stopped her explanation.

"It works," he said, getting up and putting out his cigarette lighter on an empty ashtray by his bed.

He walked to the canvas and motioned for her to get back in position.

"Sit down," he murmured, moving behind the canvas. She sat on the big leather armchair next to the fire, much like the one he usually sat on downstairs. It was ridiculously comfy and she kicked her legs up onto the little pouffe. If she wasn't careful, she'd fall asleep here. All she needed was a soft blanket to cover her legs like a grandpa and she'd be off to sleep in no time. She groaned inwardly at being so comfortable. If she fell asleep, she'd never hear the end of it from Ross, who would no doubt convince her that her slumber had caused his ultimate downfall in some way. She turned her head to stare at the fire and hoped that watching the flames dance along the wood would help keep her awake.

"Hair," he instructed, loud enough for her to hear as he walked back to the canvas.

She shook it out of its elastic and let it fall heavily to the side, furrowing her eyebrows as she looked to her right to see the fire and her left to see the candelabra.

"You're liking candle light lately, aren't you?" she asked inquisitively.

She hadn't meant to make any conversation but it had just come out. She gritted her own teeth and stared back into the fire. Why had she even opened her mouth?

"Chiaroscuro," he muttered back, almost teasingly. She flicked her eyes over at him and he grinned as he cleaned his brushes, making her crack out in a wide smile too. She hated it when he teased her.

He cracked open the bottle of whisky and took a swig while he closed the bedroom door and offered it to her, holding the bottle up as he swallowed his sip. She declined with a wave of her hand and he shrugged, setting it down on the floor next to his tripod. He sighed and braced his legs shoulder width apart, picking up his pencil and getting to work. He looked over at his phone. He'd set a timer for how long it would take Demelza to get tired, bored or whiny.

An hour passed and Ross was surprised. He'd been expecting her to say something around the forty minute mark, but all she'd asked for in that time was a glass of water. She seemed comfortable, which didn't draw any complaints from Ross. She'd melted into the chair in the process, which afforded Ross a beautiful view of her figure. Usually he positioned her the way he wanted, but he liked the natural look. Often, she'd complain of her back or neck hurting while sitting for him, so he much preferred letting her do what she wanted. The fire worked magic on the crevices of her body. Not just her neck, but the insides of her wrists, the hollows of her cheekbones, the smooth skin of her legs, now exposed as the dress rode up while she slid down the chair. His charcoal was getting a workout while Demelza stared into the fire. She was doing that thing where if you said a word too much, it sounded strange. Now the fire looked weird to her and she started wondering odd things like why wood made a crackling sound when it burned and why some flames were taller than others. She was blissfully unaware of Ross' gaze as she stared unmovingly into the fire, shifting her legs up a little.

"Demelza."

She raised her head slowly to look up at Ross.

"Hm?"

"I need you to sit down on the rug."

She complied slowly, getting up off the comfy chair and kneeling down on the rug with her dress spreading out around her. Ross picked up his canvas and walked down to the edge of the rug, sitting himself down on his knees too, placing the canvas on his lap. He clutched his piece of charcoal in his hand and she could see his pristine white shirt was smeared with small black marks. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, feeling them closing of their own accord. Her head felt heavy and she was just so warm and cosy by the fire. It wouldn't hurt if she lay down for a bit.

As she rested her back against the chair leg and extended her legs out, she closed her eyes momentarily.

"How is it going?" she asked quietly.

"Well," came a deep murmur, "I need to work with the charcoal more."

He set the canvas and charcoal aside. The noise made her open her eyes and look at him.

"Is it time for you to be master puppeteer again?"

"Indeed it is."

She sighed and sat up with her hands in her lap.

"What shall I do?"

The corners of his mouth twitched at her frustration and he moved forwards, kneeling down next to her and pushing her hair heavily over her shoulder like he had done before. This time, he pushed her hair back both sides of her face and flicked his eyes over her, furrowing his eyebrows. He reached up to pull the little tie on the neckline of her dress which she'd carefully made into a little bow. She looked down quickly in panic and opened her mouth to say something.

"Ross, maybe—"

"Relax."

It was one word, but the eye contact said much more. His eyes bore into hers for a split second before moving down to her neck. She watched him analyse it and wondered why he loved her neck so much. It wasn't just chiaroscuro, there was something else about it. He traced the neckline of her dress thoughtfully with his finger and Demelza felt bold, which wasn't a common emotion around Ross.

"Why do you like my neck so much?"

He didn't look up at her as he answered and he didn't seem surprised by her question either. She'd never questioned him about anything as personal as his painting before, nothing about why he'd wanted her to sit for him in the first place or why he put her in the settings he did. The first time she'd done it, he hadn't batted an eyelid, almost as if he'd been expecting it.

"I like the way the light hits it," he said quietly, "right here."

With that, he placed his fingers on the side of her neck, pulling them down and carefully sliding her gown down just past her shoulders. The elasticated neckline fell easily and now the gown resembled an off the shoulder dress. The excess fabric pooled by her lap and she shivered at the new sensation of her hair tickling her bare shoulders.

"Your collarbone here, it's got an exquisite hollow," his voice resembled that of a painter discussing a piece of art, "my charcoal likes it."

Demelza couldn't resist a smile. He did love his charcoal, that was true.

"Do you like it?"

She didn't even know where the words had come from. He looked up at her. He liked that teasing, playful quality in her voice, it made him smile.

"I do like it. Especially in the fire light. Candle light is softer, it makes your neck look a different colour. But fire light is stronger. It warms your skin more, makes it look darker."

He lifted a charcoal-stained hand again and traced a line down her neck with his thumb purposefully.

"This hollow here, much darker than the rest of your neck. But when the flame changes, the shadow changes. Now it's here."

He moved his fingers over to the top of her décolletage, trailing a smudgy line. She smiled a little, tipping her head back carefully. She so loved how his fingers felt on her neck, warm and soft and rough at the same time. He really did have an artists' grip, so deft and gentle, but powerful all the same. As she tipped her head back, Ross moved forward and ran his thumb deep and slow over the middle of her neck as he had done the night before, sliding it slowly over her jugular vein, leaving a dark mark over it. Her pulse was slower this time, but throbbed deeper under his finger. Was he pressing harder? He couldn't tell. He saw her chest fall as he touched her neck and her slow exhale was lost over the crackle of the fireplace.

He was suddenly aware how humid the room seemed to have become from the constant blazing fire. His shirt stuck to his back but her skin was strangely smooth and soft under his fingers, like she was impervious to the atmosphere around her. He ran his thumb back up the middle of her neck to gauge the reaction it caused. Her chest rose and fell more keenly and he moved closer as she tipped her head back so far to rest on the seat of the chair she was leaning against. He danced his fingers across her collarbone, feeling its sharp edges, then over her shoulder and back again, wondering at how the flames made the shadows dance elegantly across her pale skin, shading it a warm, peachy tone. The way she had tipped her head back afforded him an open view of her neck and the greyish black smudges left by his fingers. He moved his thumb back to the middle of her neck again, cupping the side of her neck lightly as he ran his thumb back over her vein, trying to brush away the smudge. The deep pressure elicited a quiet moan from Demelza's lips, a sound which electrified him. Her ragged breaths were audible over the fire and she had fisted her hands in the rug.

He liked making her feel this way, it sent chills through him to see her responding to him like that. Her skin looked so soft, like heated silk under the light of the fire and he couldn't resist. He leaned down to press his lips against the side of her neck, an action that caused her to let out a strangled gasp. She hadn't been expecting that, she'd never anticipated that he would ever do anything like that. But she had no time to think or process anything as he dragged his lips slowly up her neck, half biting, half simply enjoying the softness of her skin. He moved to straddle her lap, holding himself up on his knees to tower above her, his head bent down to her neck. The fleeting taste of her skin on his lips made him shiver, the faint sweetness, the hint of warmth and his hands automatically moved behind to bury themselves in her mass of curls. She felt the familiar tugging at her scalp. One arm wrapped itself around her to the small of her back while the other wound itself into her hair and she wanted to open her eyes, to look at him, to look into his eyes and see what he was thinking. But as she attempted to bring her head back down, he growled roughly against her neck and pulled her head back to expose her neck again. Demelza gasped and reflexively arched her back as he dipped his head down further to run his lips up the middle of her neck, pausing over where her vein was most prominent. He pressed his tongue against it, sucking softly as Demelza gripped his upper arm, pulling his shirtsleeve into a ball in her hand. He grazed his teeth over it and felt her writhe and gasp underneath him, making him smirk quietly.

"Stay still."

His voice was low and deep and his instruction was final, breathed against her neck like a whisper. He held her head back with his hand in her hair and bit her neck gently, right over the same spot and it was all too much for Demelza, who brought her head down again to look at him, but was again prevented. He pulled her head back gently to rest on the seat again and raised himself up on his knees, towering above her. He released her hair and brought both hands to her face, one cupping her cheek, the other her neck as she looked up at him in a mixture of surprise and desperation. His lips were so close to hers and she didn't know whether this moment was real or purely her own imagination. She felt the heat of his palm against her neck, his thumb cradling her chin and his gaze flicking from her lips to her eyes. She looked so beautiful just then. The light flickered over her face and her skin felt warm to the touch, but her lips felt cool in contrast. He kissed her deeply, fully, taking his time to savour the feeling, to drink enough from the well to remember the taste forever. She rose up to pull at his chest with both hands and kissed him with equal depth, moving closer to him, tasting the bitter, warm, ashy taste of his mouth on hers. It was all one movement, no time or space to breathe or think.

He pulled away as slowly as he'd moved towards her. He still cupped her face in his hands and looked down at her with glazed eyes. Her breath shook as he got up and stood in front of her, looking at her with the same expression. The same unreadable Ross.

"We'll finish the work tomorrow."

His voice was barely a murmur as he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Demelza closed her eyes and rested her head back on the seat again. A long breath left her slowly.


	6. Chapter 6

The majority of Demelza's morning had been spent avoiding Ross and by all means, his morning had been spent doing the same. Verity had apologised for his absence at lunch, saying that he had gone out early in the morning but hadn't told her where. Demelza was relieved. At least she wouldn't have to look at him during lunch and give Verity the awkward job of babbling mindlessly again.

Lunch was an informal affair as Ross wasn't there, and Verity spent most of her time ticking off things on her to do list on her phone while chatting absently to Demelza.

"I spent some time with Dad today….took my clothes to the dry cleaner," muttered Verity, deleting items off her list, "all that's left is grocery shopping for next week….need to get someone in to fix the taps….oh, my God, I completely forgot! I need to pick my dress for the hunt ball!"

Verity's exclamation made Demelza raise her eyebrows a little, but she didn't fully register what she'd said and continued picking at her food.

"Demelza? Demelza!" Verity waved her hands in front of her face. "You need to help me pick my dress for the hunt ball!"

"The what ball?"

"The hunt ball! I totally forgot, I got a text from Francis today. He's invited me and Ross to the Warleggan Hunt Ball. It's like an annual event, usually takes place after a big hunt….hence why it's called the….hunt….ball. But anyway, it's hosted by George Warleggan, he owns the grounds in which Francis and Elizabeth go hunting. Will you pick out a nice dress for me while I call the plumber? Please? We can kill two birds with one stone, right?"

Verity's voice was both enthusiastic and pleading and Demelza agreed, nodding soundlessly and smiling. If they both went to the hunt ball, that'd mean Ross would be out of her hair for a while.

"Does this mean you'll both be out tonight?"

Demelza instantly regretted asking that question. Verity finished her food and took her plate into the kitchen, calling back to the table.

"Yeah, we will, but you can come too if you'd like! I mean, I know you'd like to have the house to yourself, but really, what will you do here?" Verity reappeared at the kitchen doorway. "You should come with us. I'd love to introduce you properly to Francis and Elizabeth. I'm not too fond of George, but we've known them for a long time. They'll love you."

Demelza froze while Verity spoke and she put her fork down, attempting a smile.

"No, no, it's fine, honestly. You guys go, I'm more than happy to stay home. There's tonnes to do here, I wanted to get started on cleaning up the living room and there are dishes to be done—"

Verity strode in and sat down, facing Demelza eagerly.

"Oh, come on! Jinny can do that, it can be done another time! Oh, Dee, you'd love it, a hunt ball is always so much fun for a newbie. I'm an old hand, I've been going since I was little, but it'll be so much fun for you. There are pretty dresses and drinks and hot guys. Plus, George's house is an attraction in itself. You don't have to spend too long there if you don't want to, but at least come."

Demelza smiled along as Verity repeatedly squeezed her hands. She felt awful. She was living here free of charge and Verity had only ever asked this one thing of her, why couldn't she do it? Besides, if she'd promised she didn't have to spend much time there, Demelza would just say hello and leave after a few drinks.

"Fine, I'll go with you. But only if you stay with me. Promise?"

"Promise."

Verity grinned like the Cheshire cat and grabbed Demelza's hand, pulling her up and towards the stairs.

"Now we're going to spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready. We don't have time to go out shopping to buy you an evening dress, you'll just have to borrow one of mine. But don't worry, I can pin it and tuck it so it fits you perfectly. I have magic hands with a needle and thread, you know that."

Demelza jogged upstairs to keep pace with her friend and closed her eyes in regret. The fact that Ross would be there was the least of her worries. She'd never been to a hunt ball, she didn't even know such things existed before Verity had told her. She wasn't made to socialise with people like the Poldarks, she'd explained that to Ross before. They had money, she didn't. And consequently, their habits were different. She was acutely aware of the subtle hint of a Cornish accent to her words, whereas both Ross and Verity enunciated correctly despite being born and bred in Cornwall. They had never made her feel less than equal to them. Verity treated her like a friend and Ross, whenever he spoke to her seriously, made her feel like her opinions were as valuable as his own.

But she wasn't sure about people like Francis and Elizabeth. She'd only seen them twice and she still remembered the way Francis had looked her up and down from his horse like he was viewing a compost heap. The way his nose turned up and a grimace formed on his face. Would everyone look at her like that? She knew she'd looked starved and homeless on that horse with Ross, but she wasn't much better in her daily life. She walked around in jumpers and shirts two sizes too big for her and hair tied up in a curly, frizzy mess. Mostly her face was covered in a light sheen by the way she worked over the stove and she was all about practicality, sleeves rolled up, ready to dive into house chores. She wished that she knew how to look as good as people like Elizabeth and Verity, she wished she knew how to do her hair and make up without looking like a clown with a perm. Elizabeth had been wearing jodhpurs and a blazer, standard hunting gear, but she still looked like such an elegant lady on her horse.

Verity sat her down on her bed and to her, it was just a girly night out. Demelza sighed and stared straight ahead at the closet.

"What am I even supposed to say to the people I'm going to meet?"

"Just make conversation," said Verity, opening the wardrobe door and rifling through plastic covered dresses, "small talk and stuff. We're British, so it's always good to start with the weather. George's house is lovely too, so you could always compliment that. Talk about what you do, what they do—"

"Tell them I work as a cook?"

"No, tell them you live with Ross and Verity Poldark and you're Ross' model. Say 'have you seen Ross' paintings? Aren't they exquisite? You really should come around to view them sometime, I'm sure Ross would appreciate that.'"

Demelza stared at the ground as Verity pulled a selection of dresses out and tossed them on the bed next to her. A thumping and rustling was heard from the ground floor, which made both girls look towards the door.

"I think Ross is home."

Verity bit her lip and crept towards the door, walking out and bending over the balcony, looking down at the lobby below.

"Ross?"

A loud grunt indicated his presence and by this time, Demelza had found her way out to stand next to Verity. Verity suddenly turned to her with the same furrowed eyebrows she had every time she begged Demelza to go somewhere or do something with her.

"Okay, so Ross doesn't know about the hunt ball because I totally forgot to tell him. Which makes sense because I only just remembered when I saw it on my phone, but that's not the point. The point is that Ross hates George, Ross hates hunt balls and most of all, Ross hates people. Like….any people. Especially the kind of people that are going to be there, like our old school friends and stuff."

Demelza stared at her with a decidedly puzzled expression on her face.

"So? Ross can stay at home?"

"No, Ross has to come with us! It'll look so stupid if we go there without him!"

"But you said Francis invited you, so you can just make an excuse for Ross, can't you? Say he's busy with his newest canvas or something."

Verity sighed and stomped back into her room, fishing something out from her desk and walking back, thrusting it into Demelza's hands.

"This is the invite. And Francis just reminded me, the invite's actually from George. For Ross. And me, but mainly for Ross. George just tolerates me because I'm Francis' sister."

Demelza looked down at the rectangular card Verity had given her. It was white, with a shining gold border and gold lettering. A crest of some sort graced the top of the card, which read something about George Warleggan cordially invites Ross and Verity Poldark to the annual Warleggan Hunt Ball. There was a start time, information about drinks and dinner and 'carriages from midnight.'

"Carriages? Like horses?"

"Oh, carriages just means cars to get home. It will be a horse, though, because George lives so close to us, there's no point taking a car there and back. Anyway, the point is that Ross is invited and Ross has to go."

"So….go and tell Ross to go? Why are you telling me?"

There was silence from Verity, but she smiled keenly at her friend. Demelza's eyes widened in horror as she realised what Verity wanted.

"No. No. No way, no way am I going to convince him to come. It'll be like speaking to a stroppy teenager! I'm not doing it, Verity, you can't make me. No, I'm not doing it, whatever you say, I'm not going to—"

Verity suddenly slipped behind Demelza and pushed her forward a little. Demelza stared straight ahead and saw Ross pounding up the stairs. He had an apple in one hand and a large canvas wrapped in black fabric in the other which he was hauling up the stairs. He got to the top and looked at Demelza, then walked straight past her to get to his bedroom.

"Ross, Demelza has something she wants to tell you!"

Ross turned at the sound of Verity's voice and looked at Demelza oddly. Verity peeked out from behind her and patted the small of Demelza's back for encouragement. Demelza gritted her teeth and made her voice flatline as best she could.

"Verity would like me to tell you that George Warleggan's hunt ball is tonight and she would like you to go with her."

Ross flicked his gaze to his cousin hiding behind Demelza. His eyebrows gathered in the middle and Verity frowned.

"Oh, Ross!" she exclaimed dramatically, jumping out from behind Demelza, "Ross, won't you go? Please? It'll only be for a while, you can leave early if you want to but you know it'll be so rude if you don't go and I'll be there all by myself and you know all those idiots from school hate me and I wasn't popular then and I'm not popular now and you'll be consigning me to an evening of loneliness and misery and that's just horrid of you!"

Demelza turned to stare at her friend's melodramatic performance with amusement. It was surprisingly realistic and made her forget momentarily how awkward it was to look at Ross, something she'd been trying to avoid all day.

"I hate those parties and balls, Verity, you know that. I'd much rather spend my time alone tonight. If you two want to go, by all means, go. I'll even come and collect you afterwards if you'd like. Just don't drag me into it. You know I hate balls, I hate all that fake politeness and civility, it's so mind numbing. These people have nothing better to do than hunt, ride, spend money and party. You know I don't like being around them."

"But Ross, they're your old friends from school and I know they'd love to see you. Some of them are coming down from London just for tonight."

"I don't care if they're coming from the Middle East. I'm not going. And you full well know my feelings about George, Vee. He's a first rate conman, a fraudster and a fucking arsehole while I'm at it. If you want to go, you can go, like I said. But I recommend you don't go, Verity. Move on with your life. We've left school, we've got degrees, we're moving forward. I know boarding school is a family for life and all the rest of that shit they told us on the open days, but we have our own families, our own lives now. Forget about all that shit in your past."

Verity was angry now, her cheeks flushing red. Demelza had never seen her angry before and felt rather afraid. Verity balled her fists by her sides.

"Forget about it? Have you ever forgotten about your past? Never. Don't tell me to move on. You live with me, but do you even see me? In all the time we've lived together, have I ever said 'bye, Ross, I'm going on a night out with my friends'? Have I ever said I'd be back late because I was out partying? Have I ever even met any of my friends for coffee? Mum and Dad trapped me in that stupid boarding school for seven years and you knew I was bullied there! You knew people made fun of my looks so why can't I go to George's now? I haven't seen them for years and I want them to know that I'm—"

"You're what?" cut in Ross scoffingly, setting his canvas down by the balcony railings, "You're better now? Prettier now? Do you really need validation from bitches who bullied you? And let me tell you, Vee, if they were bitches then, they'll almost certainly be bitches now. I'm sorry if I don't monitor your movements, but I care about you and you know that. It's not good for you to be thinking about this. You don't need them. Why don't you just stay at home with me and we can watch some trash TV and eat junk food?"

Verity's eyes burned with anger and she wiped them quickly, making Ross sigh and look down at his feet. He'd never meant to make her cry, all he wanted was for her to know that she was better than needing other girls to tell her she was pretty.

"I'm going. And you might want to come too. Elizabeth will be there."

And on that bombshell, Verity turned on her heel and walked back into her room. Ross looked up at her words and stared at where his cousin was a split second ago. His face hardened and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I'm coming with you," he called into Verity's bedroom, "to make sure no one upsets you."

Verity scoffed loudly from her bedroom and Demelza soon realised how awkward it looked for her to be standing there in the middle of what clearly was a fight between cousins. She ran into Verity's bedroom and placed a hand on her friend's back as Verity searched frantically in the closet.

"He's so annoying! I hate him, I hate living with him, he just doesn't care about anything!"

Demelza frowned and pulled Verity into a hug. Verity held her back too and they stood like that for several seconds until Verity was only sniffling into Demelza's jumper. She pulled away and wiped her eyes with her sleeves, squeezing her friend's hands.

"Thanks. Now come on, let's get ready to go out. We'll have dinner there so you don't need to cook tonight."

"Will I have to eat the food in some special way? Vee, you have to tell me all about the etiquette, I don't want to do anything wrong that'll make people stare at me or…laugh at me."

Verity sat her down on the bed and began taking the plastic sheets off the gowns, calmly explaining anything and everything that Demelza would encounter at the dinner table and how to deal with it. Everything from wine glasses to cutlery, asparagus spears to game meat and dinner conversation. Demelza listened closely and watched how Verity moved her hands while she explained where everything would be on the table placement. She loved how Verity never laughed at her or never patronised her while explaining anything. Whenever she was worried about anything, she would always ask Verity for help because she knew she wouldn't judge her, but help her unconditionally.

"And that's about it," she finished, picking up a red chiffon gown, "I like this, it's fun and bright and it has sleeves. What do you think, will it suit me?"

She held it up on the hanger and Demelza could only wonder at it. It was a full length gown with a deep V and elbow length sleeves. She was sure it was one of the prettiest things she'd ever seen.

"I think it'd be perfect for you," she said with a wide smile, "it'll look so good on you."

"That's sorted, then," said Verity, hanging the gown up from a hook, "now we have to find yours and do our hair and make up. That'll take around an hour and we should leave half an hour before the time written on the invite. So we really don't have long. Take a look and see if anything jumps out at you."

Verity turned away and began arranging her make up on her desk, picking up her large mirror and setting it down. Demelza faintly heard her pulling her curler and straightener out of a cupboard as she dragged her fingertips across all the evening gowns Verity had in her closet.

"Anything?" came Verity's voice from the desk as she carefully set her curler to heat.

Demelza smiled and flicked through beautiful princess gowns and sexy black dresses with chains and slits until she ran a hand over a gold silk gown. It wasn't anything too flashy or out there, just a plain gold silk off the shoulder dress, the neckline banded with a little ruffle, tied with a set of laced ribbons at the back to give it some shape. It was straight up and down, but she wouldn't look too much like a shapeless bin bag in this. It was simple, but that was Demelza all over.

"This one?" she asked, taking it out and showing Verity.

Verity squealed and clapped her hands, but Demelza thought she would have done that regardless of which dress she'd picked.

"Girls? Can we pick it up, please? It's time."

Ross' voice echoed around the lobby and he sighed, twirling around on the heel of his dress shoes. Verity had barged in earlier to make sure he was wearing a suit and bow tie. She was afraid he'd decide to be rebellious and wear jeans and a Henley shirt, but he assured her he knew what dress codes were.

"Hustle, please, ladies, come on."

He ushered them towards the car and sat down, with Demelza staring constantly out of the window as the car made its way up George Warleggan's driveway. Ross began to mutter as he caught sight of the house.

"So, Ross, what have you been doing lately? I haven't seen you for ages," he said in a deeper, mock-toff voice, "painting, yah? Wow, so original! No, I've just been working as a ski rep in Verbier, yah, yah, it's just so great, just loving life right now."

Verity managed a chuckle and Ross grinned at her. He was glad their relationship was mended, but they both knew they were never really angry at each other even if they seemed it.

As they pulled up to the door, a man with white gloves came forward to open the car door and they all clambered out, with Verity handing their invite to another man at the doorway. He welcomed them and all three went in. Demelza was temporarily speechless as she looked around the room she was led into. She presumed it was the ballroom due to the sheer size and capacity of it, but it was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. It was covered in stunning frescoes like an Italian basilica, gilded with bright, almost fake looking gold and windows on every wall. The shimmering glass gave way to the garden outside which was softly lit by little fairy lights and lamps, whereas the ballroom was bathed in a gold glow from several large candelabras and the pride of George's house, a colossal crystal chandelier which hung above them elegantly.

"Welcome to the Warleggans," smiled Verity, squeezing Demelza's hand, "isn't it beautiful?"

Demelza nodded along, barely able to speak as Verity set a glass of wine in her hand.

"Now, let me introduce you to a few people."

Demelza nodded and looked around for Ross, but he had disappeared almost instantly. The people around her were strange. She watched them converse with each other as Verity led her through the crowd, and she caught snatches of some of the strangest conversation she'd ever heard.

"Yah, so I asked her where she'd been and she said she'd gone back to South America, where she'd had her gap year, to try and find herself again. I mean, who finds themselves at this age?"

"Remember that muck up day where we bought blow up dolls and tied them to the front of the boarding house? That was literally the most hilarious thing."

"No, she's been working at her dad's art gallery in London and she said she was going into party planning, but I haven't heard anything yet. Her boyfriend is so hot, though, he's like a banker or something?"

The men were all suited up and the women wore beautiful gowns much like hers. But they carried themselves in a different way, they stood taller and accentuated their best features. Most of all, they seemed to be understanding everything that was going on in their conversations and laughing at the right moments. Demelza instantly felt sick as Verity stopped dragging her and motioned over for a girl to join them. She held Verity's hand tight and felt her skin go clammy. Her clutch trembled in her hand.

"Demelza, this is Margaret, someone I know from school. Margaret, this is Demelza, my friend."

"Nice to meet you, darling."

She air kissed with Demelza and smiled at her. Margaret's voice was more of a bored drawl than a greeting and she was wearing a nightie-style black dress with a lace neckline and straps, which made her look ten times more elegant than any of the other girls Demelza had seen. She exuded an air of relaxed glamour, something Demelza felt she couldn't achieve no matter how much she tried.

"Nice to meet you too. How are you?"

"Fine, darling, fine," she waved the question away boredly.

"I'm going to get a refill, be back in a second."

Verity's words lit warning signals in Demelza's mind and she tried to hang on to her friend's hand, but Verity was already gone. Margaret leaned forward and whispered to Demelza.

"Between you and me, I always find these occasions very dull. I mean, who wants to know what some girl from school's doing now? If you really cared about her, you'd talk to her."

Demelza smiled and nodded. She didn't even remember half the girls at her high school.

"I'm just here to people watch," stated Margaret, sipping from her wine glass languidly, "well, guy watch, that's what I mean. That Francis over there, he's quite a dish, don't you think?"

Demelza turned to see Francis in deep conversation with Ross. She stared at Margaret.

"But he's Verity's brother. And I think he's engaged to Elizabeth."

Demelza was pleased she'd made this connection and dropped a name in a conversation. It was a start.

"Oh, Elizabeth Chynoweth," breathed Margaret with irritation, "she's such a social climber. The only reason she's dating Francis is because her mother's planning the wedding so she can get her grimy hands on the Poldark fortune. Mrs Chynoweth's been orchestrating this for years now. Papa Poldark's got one foot in the grave and Francis is this close to becoming the Alpha Poldark."

Demelza stared at Margaret again, shocked at the honesty and brutality with which she was speaking.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean, I ain't saying she's a golddigger."

The words sounded odd in her clipped accent but Demelza got the picture.

"Oh. Right. So you don't like Elizabeth?"

"I don't think anyone likes Elizabeth, darling. She's greedy, can't get enough. Most of us have trouble finding one guy, she's bouncing between two like a tennis ball."

"Who's the other guy?" asked Demelza, fully invested in the gossip.

"Why, Ross Poldark, of course." Margaret began snorting as she sipped her wine, "Two Poldarks, can you believe it? She just can't make her mind up. Her mother wants Francis because he's got the money. Ross is hot, but poor and that's never a good combination unless you can get some nice Lady Chatterley style extra-marital sex out of it."

Demelza stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Margaret as she continued speaking.

"And Elizabeth would have been okay with Francis too, if Ross hadn't come back from America. She has history with him, you see, they used to go out and all that, but they broke up because he went to the States for study. She and Francis were bumbling along like happy, brainless geese until Ross turned up. Feelings started, you know what I mean," Margaret made hand movements and looked at Demelza, "she still likes him but now he knows she's with Francis, he tries not to give a shit. But he does give a shit, you know?"

Demelza nodded along mindlessly but her breath was coming in uneven streaks. Ross and Elizabeth had been together? This was the first she'd ever heard of anything like this. And Ross still liked her? Why had he kissed her last night, then? Demelza's mind flitted back to earlier in the day where Verity had told him that Elizabeth would be coming to the ball, after which Ross had swiftly stated he would be accompanying them too. Full well knowing that the girl he kissed the night before was right in front of him.

Ross had paid her no attention since last night and Demelza had thought it was because he didn't know what to say, but maybe it was because he didn't care. He still liked Elizabeth, he came to the ball to see her, meaning he still felt they had a chance. Demelza was nothing more than an afterthought, a bad mistake made in a moment of madness. It had been hot in that room, she'd felt sleepy and half awake, perhaps Ross had felt the same way and thought that intimacy was a good idea?

Demelza gripped her wine glass tightly as her jaw tensed. She tried to breathe in and out to stop the tears from falling, but they began to well anyway, escaping her waterline and tumbling down her face.

"Excuse me."

She turned from Margaret and took herself over to the balcony. She stared out of the window and quickly tried to compose herself, fishing clean tissues meant for make up out of her clutch. She pushed the window latch open and stuck her head out into the biting cold air, breathing it in rough gulps as she wiped her face messily. Her eyes squeezed shut and she dabbed at them, careful not to get mascara or eyeshadow all over her face. She didn't want to disappoint Verity and she certainly didn't want to embarrass herself. The more she breathed in the cold air, the more her mind began to slow. If Ross wanted to try again with Elizabeth, he was free to do that and she was no one to stop him. She and Ross weren't in a relationship. She didn't know why he'd kissed her, maybe he hadn't meant to, maybe he'd gotten carried away, but that wasn't any of her business. Yes, she had enjoyed it and yes, perhaps she'd thought she'd had a chance with Ross, but everything was much clearer after Margaret's charitable explanation. She and Ross lived in different worlds. Ross was part of a different group, a group who knew each other, got the scoop on all the dramas happening around them. Ross, Francis and Elizabeth had known each other all their lives and they understood each other's problems and hardships. Francis' father's deteriorating health and businesses, Ross' family situation and time spent in the US, Elizabeth's engagement to Francis. It was all in one little world, from which Demelza was far removed. Far, far removed. She was just Ross' model and the Nampara family cook. Nothing more, nothing less. No matter how nicely Verity treated her, how much they went shopping together and shared clothes, she could never be part of that world. She could be in it, just not amalgamate into it. And she was okay with that.

What she wasn't okay with was Ross viewing her as some sort of bright, new toy to play with and cast aside when he saw a favourite, long lost one hiding behind the toy box. That wasn't acceptable. She may not be in his circle of posh friends, but she was a human being with feelings nonetheless.

"Ah, this is who you're talking about, Verity? Hello, George Warleggan. Welcome to my home, I trust you're having a good evening."

Demelza turned from the window to find Verity and George standing primly, smiling at her. George held his hand out and Demelza smiled, shaking his hand warmly. His duck's arse hair, as Ross had once put it, bobbed back and forth as they shook hands.

"Hello. I'm Demelza, it's lovely to meet you. You have a beautiful house."

"Thank you. You're Ross' model, aren't you? I saw you at his graduation presentation at the art gallery. What a beautiful picture he drew of you. You still model for him now, I take it?"

"I do, yes. You must come and view Ross' portraits some time, I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

She caught Verity's eyes and carefully recited the lines she remembered from her bedroom. George's small smile was not welcoming.

"I'm sure he would. You look lovely tonight, if I may say. We're just having dinner now, would you care to sit with me?"

Verity nodded from behind George and Demelza nodded too reflexively.

"Wonderful. May I?"

He stuck his arm out and Demelza took it clumsily, swapping her clutch in her hands. They walked across the ballroom through to the dining room and Verity joined Margaret behind them, chatting away merrily. The dining room was just as beautiful, with a long table decorated with all the food anyone could ever wish for. Game meats were the centrepiece, of course, and the rest of the table was filled with vegetables, potatoes and all sorts of homely food. Demelza spied asparagus on one dish and vowed to keep away from it. George swept her to the head of the table and docked her at a seat while he stood at the head, spreading his arms out.

"Bonjour, tout le monde! Merci beaucoup for coming to my ball tonight and thank you once again for allowing me to host you in my own home. I trust you've all had a good time mingling and meeting after so long and I do hope the drinks were more than satisfactory."

A small chuckle rose from the tables as George grinned and set his hands down on the wood in front of him.

"A selection of prize game meat, fish and all accompaniments have been lovingly prepared for you by my kitchens, so please, let's waste no more time. Let's celebrate the fruit of the very successful Warleggan hunt. Bon appetit."

He sat down and everyone began to clap. Demelza hastily set her clutch down and clapped too, perhaps a bit too noisily in her hurry, and sat down carefully, tripping a little over the ends of her dress as someone pushed the chair in for her. The starter was soup, already decanted into a bowl, and Demelza knew how to eat soup, she didn't need anyone's instruction. She waited for the host to start eating as Verity had told her, and carried on with her meal. A butler from behind topped up her wine glass with Moet, something she'd only seen in adverts, and brought the fish, main and dessert courses along one by one. The portions were stingy, not at all enough to fill her up and her hand itched to dump more potatoes onto her plate from the bowl in front of her, but she abstained.

Ross was sitting on the opposite side of the table, a little way down alongside Verity. He looked angry and had rolled his eyes during George's speech. Demelza watched as he picked at his food in irritation and Verity glanced over at her, giving her a thumbs up. She was obviously doing everything right and even in this situation, she couldn't help but be pleased with herself. She did have a little mishap with the guest sitting next to her during the fish course. He had attempted to make conversation with her and Demelza remembered what Verity had said about small talk. She tried the line about the weather and deer hunting, which made the man look at her oddly and smile. He didn't speak to her any more after that, but the evening had been going so well, Demelza didn't even care to notice.

George had attempted to speak to her too, mainly about Ross. He kept asking what Ross was up to and how he was doing lecturing at the university. He seemed annoyed with Demelza's generically positive replies, almost as if he was looking for some sort of gossip. Nevertheless, the dinner was soon over and after dessert, guests began to lounge on their chairs. She watched the women flick their hair tiredly as they drank their wine and it seemed like apathy was the cool thing. Before she could attempt to emulate it, Verity appeared behind her chair.

"It's time to go," she said briskly, with a smile plastered on her face, "let's say goodnight."

Demelza got up dutifully and retrieved her clutch, moving to follow Demelza until she heard a voice.

"Going so soon? It is late, I suppose. At least let me escort you outside."

George was all smiles as he walked out through the ballroom with both women. Ross waited for them at the doorway of the house, stamping his feet against the bitter cold. His and Verity's horses were doing the same outside and he wanted nothing more than to leave this place as quickly as possible.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Carne, and I do hope you come by again for dinner. Did you enjoy your evening?"

Ross turned to hear George addressing Demelza with his contemptuous drawl and Ross' face contorted uncomfortably. He'd sat her down next to him and now he wouldn't let her leave.

"It was lovely, thank you. And thank you for inviting us into your home."

George smiled his strange semi-smile and waved her off out of the door. Ross turned without word and followed the two girls outside as Verity hitched herself up onto her horse.

"You'll have to ride with me, Demelza. Jim only brought Hugh and Seamus."

Demelza turned and looked at him, but maintained her composure. He ripped his bowtie off and shoved it in his pocket, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt and pulling on his riding gloves. Once he'd swung himself up, he helped Demelza up to ride in front of him and set off on a quiet canter down the driveway.

"Comfortable?" he asked quietly.

She nodded in reply and sat silently as they made their way home.

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes. I spoke to Margaret. Verity's friend."

"Oh, yeah. Queen of the Gossip Mill. What did she tell you? Anything juicy?"

Demelza thought about biting her tongue as she bobbed up and down with every step the horse took. She didn't.

"Nothing much. Just stuff about you and Elizabeth and Francis."

She felt Ross' posture straighten behind her. She played with her clutch absently as the bobbing motion of the horse began to loosen the bobby pins meticulously placed by Verity in her hair.

"What did she say?"

"She told me all about that whole story. You and Elizabeth were a thing, then you went away to study in America and Elizabeth began dating Francis, now they're both engaged."

"Yeah. Only because her mother—"

"I heard that bit too. Margaret said that Elizabeth's mother has always been after a rich guy for her daughter. And that if her mother hadn't pushed her towards Francis, you and Elizabeth might still—"

"That's not true."

There was silence once again and Demelza let it be for a while. Nampara was in sight and she could barely make out the silhouette of Jim and Verity's horse.

"Elizabeth and I aren't a….thing. Not anymore. And I certainly don't want to be."

"That's why you agreed to come to the ball when Verity said Elizabeth would be there? Even though you hate George so much?"

Ross swung off the horse and guided it into the stable, handing the reins to Jim before holding a hand out to help Demelza off the horse. She glared at him and swung herself off clumsily, muddying the hem of her dress in the process.

"You still haven't answered my question," she said as Ross strode quietly into the house.

She followed him as he entered the house and Verity was nowhere to be seen. He tossed his gloves angrily onto the sofa in the living room, walking over to the fire and turning to stare at her.

"I'll answer your question now. I agreed to go to George's house because I had something I needed to say to Elizabeth in person, otherwise I wouldn't have touched George or his nouveau riche house with a barge pole."

Demelza opened her mouth to ask the inevitable next question but she was beaten there by Ross, who seemed like he was on fire.

"I told her to stop calling me, to stop texting me, to stop contacting me in any way. She's been harassing me incessantly since the engagement dinner and I won't have any of it. It's not my fault if she can't pick the Poldark that takes her fancy and her excuses don't interest me."

Demelza stared at him, completely nonplussed. He didn't want to be with her?

"You don't believe me? Here, look at this."

He fished his phone out of his pocket and in a few short taps, held it up to show her. She saw white and blue speech bubbles and yards of text as Ross scrolled along to show her.

"This is her, this is all from her. All these endless explanations and excuses and I don't want to hear it. I'm living my life by myself, living with my cousin, working a decent job and trying to make a living. I don't like the way she and Francis and the entire damn family look down their noses at me. I hold them in the utmost contempt. That's what Verity says anyway."

"And why is that?"

He turned and stared at her oddly, his eyes gleaming a menacing orange in the fire light.

"Because they deceived me, Demelza. While I was away in New York, my father died here in Cornwall. My aunt and uncle neglected to tell me until I came back. They buried him, they did everything and didn't tell me a thing. Verity tried, but her parents stopped her. Elizabeth was there. Francis was there. Why didn't they do anything? I played with them both when I was a kid, we spent our childhood together here in Cornwall, between Nampara and Trenwith and back then, we were all equal. Money, status, family, it didn't mean anything to us as long as we could play together after school and have a good time. The more you grow up, the more you lose that carelessness and selflessness. Now all anyone thinks about is themselves.

"And I'm not immune to that. I was guilty of being selfish when I left my dad and went to America, and I'm sure I've done loads of horrid things in my life, but nothing so bad as deceiving someone I love. It'd only been six months, Demelza," said Ross passionately, stepping towards her, "it'd only been six months that my dad was dead and I come back to this?"

He raised his arms to the room around him. Demelza bit her lip and looked around too.

"I come home to this? They knew Dad wasn't well, they could have helped, they could have taken care of the place, but no. Instead, I come home from Trenwith to find Verity alone here. Just Verity and Jim and Jinny and they tried as hard as they could to fix it up, but what can three people do? It's a shithouse, Demelza. It's breaking apart, it's full of mould and damp and crumbling stairs. This is my inheritance."

The last word was almost a laugh. She ventured an idea calmly.

"But surely alongside the house, you got monetary inheritance? Which you could use to fix the house?"

"Money? I don't know how much you've seen since you've been here, but I have no money. I live on the wage I get from my residency, which isn't enough. Verity's profits from her bakery and my salary, it's not enough for both of us, especially if we have to pay the salaries of our staff, groceries, shit like that. It's not working. And I know some of it is my fault, but now do you understand why I want nothing to do with those people who live in Trenwith? And that includes Elizabeth. She's complicit in this and I don't care what anyone says. This isn't about me and her and Francis and some sort of movie love triangle, or even about love, it's about trust, about family, about taking care of each other. Common fucking courtesy," he spat, turning towards the fire and sitting down on his chair.

He buried his face in his hands and Demelza heard a shaky, quiet sigh. Her heart hurt after hearing him talk and she didn't know how she could make anything better. She walked over and crouched down, looking up at him.

"Well….perhaps we could go to B&amp;Q tomorrow and get some paints? There's 50% off on Wednesdays if you're over 60. We could dress you up as a pensioner. I'm sure it'd work."

Ross blinked at her and snorted, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. Demelza joined in too and suddenly, he was very grateful for her presence.

"You're so cheeky. Now off you go, it's late, time for bed."

Demelza grinned and got up, walking towards the stairs with her shawl and clutch. She was glad there wasn't any awkwardness between them anymore. She made her way up to the balcony, but paused as she saw Ross' fabric covered canvas still resting against the railings. She looked down for any sign of him coming and quickly crouched down to unwrap the fabric. She felt terribly naughty, but she was just dying to see what he'd created today. The knots came undone easily and the fabric fell to reveal a canvas full of monotone, but the subject matter was what struck Demelza speechless. The painting was of her, sitting on the floor in front of a bright fire, her head tipped back to rest on a green leather seat, the most beautiful and fantastical shadows cast over her whole body. Dark, precise charcoal marks were visible over Demelza's neck, thrown into light while the rest of her body was cast into shadow. She sat on her hind legs and looked at it for what felt like an eternity. It was more beautiful than any other portrait of her Ross had ever drawn or painted.

She heard Ross' footsteps lazily make their way up the stairs but she couldn't move.

"Do you like it?" came his voice from the top of the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

"I do."

Demelza looked up at him as he walked over, looking down at his charcoal and pencil portrait fondly.

"I like it too. I spent a lot of time on it today, just stuck in my studio at the university. I was inspired, I guess."

Demelza couldn't help feeling her cheeks get warmer. He was quite smooth, she had to admit. He reached out to pick up the canvas carefully, balling the fabric in his hand. His look was softer than it had been during their conversation downstairs, and he walked into his bedroom, setting the canvas down on the tripod he had sketched from the night before. Demelza followed him tentatively. She felt like she could sit there and stare at the portrait all night.

"Is it vain if I say I want to keep this canvas in my room and look at it whenever I want?" she asked cheekily.

A hint of a smile curled his lips as he took his jacket off and pulled his belt out of the loops, rolling up his sleeves carefully.

"No. But perhaps we should have joint custody. Because I want to keep it in my room and look at it whenever I want too."

She smiled wide at this, setting her clutch down on the desk to look at the canvas more closely.

"I don't know what it is about this that I like so much," she murmured, reaching out to touch the rough material carefully.

"I always tell my students that the quality of anything an artist creates depends on how he was feeling at the time. The more inspired I am, the better I create. The more…invested I am in the subject, the better my work is."

Demelza raised her eyebrows. He was flirting, even she could tell that. He wasn't very subtle, but she liked it anyway. She turned around and smiled at him as he shoved his hands in his pockets, walking over towards her.

"Then perhaps I should guess you were quite invested in your subject this time round."

Ross nodded and the corners of his mouth curled upwards a little as he inspected her closely for the first time that evening. He'd been so fuelled by anger at the ball that he hadn't really bothered to look at her properly.

"You did a good job at George's house tonight, you know."

Demelza looked up at him in surprise. She wasn't expecting him to say anything along those lines.

"What do you mean?"

"You did a good job. With the food and the wine and stuff. Did Verity give you a little demonstration?"

"Yeah, but….how did you know I was….worried about that?"

Ross smiled and moved his eyes back to the portrait again, inspecting every charcoal mark religiously.

"Sometimes, Demelza, I think you forget that you tell me a lot more than you think. Perhaps it's just my reactions that surprise you, so you forget about it."

Demelza's mouth turned up at one side too as she listened carefully to Ross' words. He said odd things sometimes.

"Again, what do you mean?"

He turned and his stare was one of the most direct she'd ever experienced, but it wasn't aggressive. His eyes were softer, as if he was considering her.

"You tell me a lot of things. In these few months you've been sitting for me….you know, minutes turn into hours and we both get bored during sittings. Even when we relax together, you tell me a lot about yourself. Perhaps unintentionally, but don't think that I don't listen carefully to everything you say. You tell me stuff about your dad, your childhood, how you feel about…life. Just little snippets, but they're always interesting."

Demelza was a little taken aback. Had she really said those things? She knew she was a chatterbox but maybe she really did talk too much. It wasn't her fault, though. She had no one to talk to at home so when she met the only people she saw regularly, of course she'd start without stopping.

"Do I talk too much?"

Ross met the question with a grin and it caught onto Demelza too. He started laughing and she followed suit.

"I think you know the answer to that! But I don't mind it. I like hearing you talk."

Demelza stepped forward to the canvas again and looked at it for the hundredth time, still smiling.

"Perhaps I talk so much because you don't talk at all. The first I ever heard you speak so much was just now, downstairs."

She turned her head a little as she felt Ross step up behind her, the heat a little too much for her. The room was as hot as it had been the night before, with the fire that had been blazing for God knows how many hours.

"Then I'll talk now. It's quite cruel of you to wear this dress, you know."

Demelza furrowed her eyebrows as she absently stroked the portrait, running her fingernails over the textured canvas, sometimes patting them gently over the charcoal to feel the indentation it had made on the paper.

"Cruel?"

"Cruel."

His voice was final, and she felt a gentle pulling at her scalp. It was quite relaxing, and that was when she realised Ross was pulling the little black bobby pins out of her hair one by one. They tinkled quietly as he dropped them to the floor.

"It's cruel of you to wear such a beautiful dress and hardly give me time to appreciate it properly. And it's cruel of you to wear your hair up like this when you know I prefer it down. But perhaps you had to wear it up to show off your best feature."

"I only wear it down when I sit for you," said Demelza, cocking her head as curls fell down her back one by one, impressed by her own bravery.

"That's true," he murmured quietly, slowly running his fingers through her thick, fiery locks until they tickled the small of her back, "sometimes I can't decide which I like more, your hair or your neck."

Demelza smiled with her eyes half closed, temporarily enjoying the unintentional head massage Ross was giving her before he swept her hair to one side.

"Maybe I like your hair more when I paint and your neck more when I….don't."

"Your canvas would disagree."

Ross chuckled quietly and ran his fingertips down her neck again, all the way to her exposed shoulder.

"Maybe the line between artist and man is a little blurred," he considered, leaning down to gently press a kiss against her shoulder. She smiled and tipped her head to one side, relishing the feeling of his lips on her again.

"Perhaps it should be. How else can an artist create unless he's invested in his subject?"

She felt Ross grin against her skin as he ghosted his lips up her neck slowly. His arms moved lazily around her waist to hold her from behind. She placed one hand over his, but the other never moved from exploring the canvas, as if she was reading Braille.

He softly kissed just under her ear, pulling her back closer against his chest.

"You should be careful. You'll get charcoal all over your fingers," he murmured against her neck again.

"It didn't seem to be a big problem for you last time."

Ross' laugh shook Demelza's body too and she smiled wide at this, squeezing his hand at her waist. Ross liked how she sparred with him, it made him feel more adventurous and experimental. He felt her fingers make chalky marks on his hand as she placed them over his and he ventured his lips down her neck again, feathering soft kisses until Demelza was smiling with her eyes closed, a look he loved more than anything in the world. He turned her around carefully in his arms and wrapped them around her just as tight, kissing her just as deeply as he had done the night before. Her lips were cooler, sweeter, softer than he remembered and this time, she held him too, running her hands up his chest to grip his shoulders lightly, the same deft grip he had on her back. He couldn't tell what was silk and what was skin as he ran his hands over her small frame gently, almost scared he would hurt her or break her in half. It was one thing to appreciate her body through art, another entirely to feel her body moving and responding to him under his touch.

As Ross deepened the kiss and barely allowed her to break away to breathe, she was acutely aware of how big his hands felt on her and how much she adored the gentleness with which he touched her. Her bottom lip felt sore as Ross bit down on it, tugging it into his mouth and carefully running his tongue over the bite mark and Demelza squeezed his shoulders, wishing he would never stop. She felt his hands run over her sides, slowly and deliberately, then moving to the middle of her back, beginning to untie the ribbon slowly. He left her lips for a moment, hushing her groan of protest while moving down to her neck, exploring every crevice he'd drawn with his charcoal, feeling the depth and movement of every inch with his lips. He felt her bury her hand into his hair, holding him to her neck and he smiled against her skin again, biting gently. She arched towards him in the same manner and he couldn't stop, nothing in the world could make him pull away from her body. He could hear her breathing roughly, interspersed with quiet moans as he hit sensitive spots on her neck.

He caught her lips again with more passion this time, pushing her against the wall comfortably. She felt her back settle against it as his hips pressed into hers, his hands moving down to pull her hips tight against his too. Now Ross could hear himself panting between kisses, moving back to take her mouth without warning each time, his head spinning as he tried to make sense of what he was feeling. All he knew was that he never wanted to forget this feeling, of her body against his, her lips, her skin, the taste of her mouth and all he could do was kiss her feverishly, unaware of his own ragged breathing. All he wanted was to drown in her and if this was the way, he would spend the rest of his doing it.

"Ross?"

A voice, unmistakably Verity's, rang sharply from outside the door. Ross and Demelza broke apart, trying to stifle their breathlessness as they looked at each other and then the door.

"Yes? What is it, Vee?"

Ross' voice shook and he arranged his shirt and hair properly, watching Demelza retie the ribbon on her dress, tying her hair up once again in a messy bun.

"I need to have a chat with you. Can you come outside, please?"

"Okay, I'm a little busy, give me one second!"

Demelza looked at Ross in panic. If Verity was outside, she would have no way to leave and go to her own bedroom.

"Get into my bed," he whispered, ushering her towards his four poster as he tucked his shirt back in his suit trousers.

She stared at him incredulously. Had he just said what she thought he'd said? Ross glared at her and pushed her along.

"Quickly! Get in and pull the covers over you. Make the bed a little messy, just do it, quickly!"

Verity's knock on the door made Demelza aware she didn't have much time, so she jumped into the bed and ruffled the sheets, hiding underneath and trying to make herself as flat and unnoticeable as possible. Ross threw the black fabric over the canvas and opened the door, smiling at Verity.

"What took you so long?" she asked in irritation, stepping in and crossing her arms over her robe, "oh, is this your new portrait? Can I see?"

"No! No, it's not finished yet, I still have loads to do. You can't see it, not yet. Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about? It's the middle of the night, is everything okay?"

"I just wanted to have a chat about what happened tonight….I didn't talk to you when I got home because I guess I wasn't sure about what to say. Are you okay?"

Ross' posture softened and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at his cousin's concern for him.

"I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine, don't worry. I got a few things off my chest to Elizabeth and that's what I went there to do."

"And what was her response?"

"She listened. For the most part. And she agreed that she'd stop calling and texting me. She went a little crazy and asked if there was 'someone else,' as if we'd been going out or something. But it was mission accomplished. And I hope she and Francis are happy together."

Verity was surprised at the easiness in his voice. He was always tense when he talked about Elizabeth and Francis, his whole posture hardened or inverted. But it had been months since she'd spoken to him about them, so perhaps he really had moved on. He was smiling at her and took her hands, squeezing them gently.

"You are very sweet, you know that? But I'm perfectly fine and I was glad I was able to speak to Elizabeth. Now you go to bed, it's so late."

Verity squeezed his hands back and narrowed her eyes.

"And what have you been doing since you got home? You haven't even changed."

Ross stared at her and Demelza felt more constricted than before in her blanket prison.

"Sketching. I was sketching. I was inspired, I was just working on my canvas."

Verity let go of his hands and walked towards it. Ross jogged over and placed a hand on the black fabric.

"It's a surprise, you can't see it yet, it's not done."

"Calm down! I won't look at it, don't worry. But I do expect to see something brilliant when you're finished. Is it of Demelza? Didn't she just look so gorgeous tonight? I know she borrowed one of my dresses, but she looked like it was made for her! I swear, every guy and girl there were looking at her like she was a celebrity!"

"Yeah…..yeah, she looked great."

Verity raised an eyebrow at Ross' stunted speech and looked at him oddly.

"What is it? Did you think she looked awful? It didn't have any sequins on it."

"No, I'm being honest. She looked great and so did you. I am sorry for yelling at you earlier, I shouldn't have done that. You're free to go wherever you like, I'm not one to stop you."

"It's fine, don't worry about it."

She gave her cousin a hug and waved goodnight, walking out of his bedroom and down the hallway to hers. She was beyond surprised by his strange behaviour. Why had he been so oddly relaxed? And apologising for giving her what he'd always called 'tough love'? Something had happened and she wasn't a Poldark if she didn't find out what it was.

"Thank fuck."

Ross sighed and ran a hand over his face, pushing his hair back and walking to the bed.

"She's gone, you can come out now."

Demelza suddenly appeared, pushing the blanket off and sitting up. She looked a complete mess with a sheen of sweat on her face, her hair sticking out everywhere and her dress creased beyond imagination.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, getting out and walking around the bed to him, "I thought she knew, I thought she was going to walk over to the bed and pull the blanket off!"

Ross grinned and took her hands lazily, pulling her close to him, squeezing the small of her back as he held her tight.

"And what would you have done if she had?"

"Died, maybe?"

Demelza's response was so honest, it made Ross laugh at her exaggerated tone. All of a sudden, he felt her hands move from his shoulders to smother his mouth uncomfortably.

"Shhh, shhh!" she hushed him urgently, "What if Verity hears?!"

He laughed again and kissed the palms of her hand, pretending to bite them which at least made her giggle quietly. She moved her hands back to his shoulders, squeezing them softly as she looked up at him.

"It's so late….you know what I think we should do?"

Ross' eyes widened at her drawling tone and he looked down at her in slight terror.

"What?"

"Maybe you should take your clothes off…"

Her voice trailed off and she pressed herself closer to him, slowly rubbing his shoulders. Ross didn't know if he was scared or turned on. Was this Demelza? Was she possessed?

"And then you should get into bed…."

Her voice was barely a purr against his skin as she pressed her lips to the V of his open necked shirt, kissing gently all the way up to his neck.

"And then…."

"Then?" he asked hesitantly, focussed but slightly thrown by how careful and gentle her lips felt on his skin. Her mouth was close to his ear now, he could feel the warmth of her breath drifting over his ear lobe.

"Then you should go to bed because we need to wake up early and dress you like a pensioner to get half price off paint at B&amp;Q."

She laughed uncontrollably, holding her hand to her mouth as she pulled away, pointing ecstatically at Ross' unamused face.

"Your face! This is brilliant! I wish I could take a picture and show you!"

"You. Out," he declared, pointing at the door.

She grinned and blew him a kiss, walking over to pick up her clutch from his desk. He smiled and turned her around to peck her lips gently.

"Proper kiss."

She smiled and kissed him back, reaching up on her tiptoes. Even in heels, she was shorter than him, but he leaned down and made life easy for her, biting her bottom lip sharply to make her gasp as she pulled back. He resisted the urge to kiss her again, especially now that her bottom lip was so plump and red, but Demelza smiled as wide as she could without laughing.

"Goodnight, Ross."

He waved her off and leaned against the doorframe, watching her tiptoe over the wooden hallway floor to her bedroom. Once she got there, she turned to see him still staring at her, arms crossed, hair a mess. He was a total mess, in fact, he looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, but so did she. And to her, he'd never looked more perfect. She waved at him and he winked back, making her smile and disappear into her bedroom.

She felt like a little girl and perhaps it was just the first time anyone had liked her or made her feel special like this, but she felt like she'd burst with happiness. She didn't even know what or how to feel, or what to think about what had just happened. Maybe it was true that friends make the best lovers and she was so glad they weren't starting from scratch and going out on dates. She'd been nervous with him for sure, but all those months they'd spent together as friends had dissipated most of the awkwardness. And now everything was cleared up with Francis and Elizabeth, she felt that maybe things were going in an okay direction. She remembered all those things she'd thought about her and Ross and the Poldarks, the fact that they lived in different worlds, but just then, in that bedroom, that was her world. That was how Ross had always spoken to her, sharing things with her, asking her about herself, making jokes, just being himself. Perhaps she hadn't gotten to see much of the core of Ross Poldark during those interactions, but she'd seen enough to know that she enjoyed spending time with him. She liked how he made her feel; carefree, relaxed, open. And she bet that she made him feel the same way because from what she'd seen of him, he didn't waste time with people he didn't like. And he sure liked her, which was good enough for the time being.


	8. Chapter 8

Breakfast was an awkward affair. Demelza kept grinning and looking down at her plate, forcing scrambled egg and toast into her mouth to stop her smiling so much. Ross coughed into his mug of tea and Verity stared at them both in irritation.

"What is it? What's so funny?"

"Inside joke," explained Ross quietly, finishing his tea and getting up, "if everyone's done, we should go. I hate DIY stores and I want to get out of there as quickly as possible. Demelza's made a list of all the stuff we'll need."

Verity looked over at the paper next to Demelza's plate and picked it up, reading through it. She was still struggling to pronounce some of the words as they walked into the store from the car park.

"What the hell is turpenteen?" she asked in confusion, handing Demelza the list and pointing to the word. Ross felt like facepalming himself in public.

"Turpentine, Vee, turpentine. It's white spirit. That toxic shit I keep in my bedroom in see through bottles?"

Verity looked at him with a blank stare. Ross stopped dead to look at her.

"Turps? The stuff I use to get paint off things?"

"Oh! Oh, the stuff that smells like chemicals?"

Demelza laughed and pulled her friend along to the paint aisles as Ross followed.

"Yes, the stuff that smells like chemicals. Oh, wow, look at all this paint," mused Ross, walking slowly down the aisle and looking side to side at the tins, "there's not much variety here, is there? I mean, there's a whole aisle for white paint and the rest of the colours are so basic."

"Because you're an artist, Ross," said Demelza, pinching his cheek, "you're too high and mighty to be shopping for wall paint." Her lace up brogues made pattering sounds on the hard warehouse floor as she skipped ahead.

Ross grinned and followed her. She was easy to spot in a lemon yellow dress, the very colour of which made him smile until his cheeks hurt. Her red hair clashed proudly with the bright fabric and her pale skin. While Verity found everything too stressful, Demelza sent her to the lighting section and asked her to use her fashion sense to pick new lamps and light fittings for certain rooms. She grabbed a trolley from the side and she and Ross managed to cover most of the list together, the paints, wallpaper, turpentine, paintbrushes, varnishes and most importantly for Demelza, cleaning equipment. Ross watched with interest as she picked out bright pink feather dusters and multi-purpose cleaning sprays and cloths, as well as a pack of elbow length gloves and bleach.

"Do you like cleaning?" he mused, picking up a colour wheel and staring at it with interest.

"I hate cleaning," she replied, "but when you live in a clean place, you feel much better. I like mess, just not…filth, you know. Anyway, I think that's about it."

Ross grinned and grabbed the feather duster from the trolley.

"Not quite."

He grabbed her and pulled her close to him, tickling her face and neck with the duster until she squealed and squirmed in his arms, freeing herself and giggling. She hid behind the trolley and they circled each other, a wicked grin on Ross' face.

"You can't get me, I'll pour a whole tin of Dulux on you!"

"I'm an artist, I'll do anything for my craft," he laughed, grabbing her and fluffing the feathers over the neck he adored so much. She laughed back, her giggles causing him to laugh even more. He threw the duster back in the trolley and kissed her gently between laughs, wrapping his arms tight around her. She smiled wide as he held her close, breathing in the light, fresh scent of his aftershave and the ashy hint of charcoal. She wrapped her arms around his neck too, kissing him softly, gently, barely a whisper of a kiss. He loved how she teased him, she'd hover between giving herself to him completely and withholding herself, something which drove him to the point of insanity. He turned to push her against the wall of paint tins, taking her bottom lip in his mouth, sucking and biting it until she moaned and squeezed the nape of his neck.

"Ross, someone will see," she whispered against his lips, worried that a customer or worker would walk into the aisle and spot them.

"So what?" he asked, squeezing her waist gently, brushing his lips over hers, "I won't stop until I've taught you how to kiss me properly."

Demelza smiled wide and pulled him closer. He met her lips with his own and felt her press up against him, her small body so fragile and responsive in his arms. The soft chiffon of her dress was smooth under his hands and her own hands were cool on the back of his neck as he explored every inch of her lips, sometimes kissing her gently, sometimes deeply. He ran his tongue against hers slowly, pulling away before biting her bottom lip again, soothing it with his tongue. She loved it when he did that and he loved seeing her lips so swollen and red from his attentions. He could kiss her all day if that was how she looked and tasted. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, squeezing her tight to him.

"I know we have to go and pay," he murmured, "but I don't want to move."

She smiled and closed her eyes too, just relishing the feeling of being so close to him, of his arms around her. After a few moments, they parted and Demelza leaned back against the cans of paint, running her hands down to rest on his upper arms. His muscles were hard and tough under her hands and his eyes were fixed on her, flitting between her neck, lips and eyes, just drinking in how beautiful she looked in that moment.

"Demelza?"

Demelza froze as if she'd been struck by lightning. Her grip on Ross' biceps tightened as she turned her head to look. She already knew where the thunderous voice was coming from.

Her father strode up the aisle purposefully and Demelza's chest heaved. She tried to take in air, to breathe properly, but she couldn't. Ross' face hardened and he stepped in front of her, pushing her behind him automatically.

"Mr Carne. What can I do for you?" he asked in a measured tone.

"I won't speak to the likes of you. Give me my daughter. What are you doing with her? Frolicking like this in public?! Have you no shame?!" he bellowed loudly, causing people to turn and stare at him. His face was red and spittle was flying out, just as she remembered.

"Mr Carne, I suggest we take this outside. I don't think this is the time or the place for a conversation like this," said Ross quietly, feeling Demelza grip his shirt. He could hear her panicked breaths behind him.

"Don't you Mr Carne me! Demelza, come here right this instant! Now, Demelza!"

"Mr C—"

"NOW!"

A loud whimper left her lips and she grabbed Ross tight, afraid that her father would tear her away. The moment she had thought it, she heard his footsteps moving towards her.

"If you don't come with me, I'll take—"

Ross grabbed the arm he had raised and forced it back down, anger burning like a wildfire in his eyes.

"If you ever try to take her away from me, if you ever hurt her or raise a hand to her again, I will kill you, do you understand? She's not yours. She's no one's."

Her father stared at Ross in amazement. Demelza had regulated her breathing and peeked out at her father from over Ross' shoulder. She trembled as she stepped to the side, grabbing Ross' arm like an anchor. He wrapped it around her reassuringly and held her to his chest, her arm slipping behind to grab his shirt tight.

"I've got a job," she said quietly, looking at the floor, "I'm living my own life, Dad. I don't need you."

There was silence for a moment and Ross took her free hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss it softly. Her father stared at the pair and then at Ross.

"I'll deal with you later, Poldark."

He turned and stormed off the same way he had come, and as she heard his footsteps recede, the barrage of emotions came back and she turned, wrapping her arms around Ross and burying her face in his neck. Ross held her tight as she trembled, breathing in deep gasps. She had no more tears left, but her eyes burned with fear, her chest feeling as if someone had torn it out of her body. She closed her eyes and all she saw were memories, black and white, as if they were being played on a cinema screen and she was forced to watch. Sharp stings on her face and harsh pulls at her scalp with yells of 'listen to me!' and 'this is what happens when you don't do what I say!' She gripped Ross' back hard and he rubbed her back slowly, up and down, whispering in her ear and hushing her until she stopped trembling.

"Nothing will happen to you…that's over now, okay? That's over now, it's in the past and it won't happen again. No one can treat you like that again. This is your life now, honey…." he gently extricated himself from her and cupped her face softly, looking at her. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she wanted him to talk and never stop.

"Never again?" she asked quietly.

"Never again. This is your life now. This, us, our house. We're gonna fix it up together, you and me and Verity, and everything will be okay," he murmured, enveloping her with his gaze as he gently stroked her jaw with his thumbs. She rubbed her face gently against his callused hand, closing her eyes before he pulled her into a hug again, holding her tight.

"Demelza?! Demelza!"

A breathless Verity appeared at the end of the aisle and Demelza looked up to see her running over in panic.

"Demelza, I saw him leave and I'm so sorry I wasn't there!"

She pulled her friend into a hug and Demelza held onto her tight, squeezing her and letting go after a few minutes. She smiled and squeezed Verity's hand, feeling much more balanced. Ross watched them interact with a smile and winked at Demelza, walking over to grab the trolley.

"Are you okay, darling?" asked Verity in concern, looking up at her friend frantically.

"I'm okay….I wasn't before but I am now. Ross dealt with…..with him."

She wasn't able to say the word, but Ross ushered them towards the till. Verity linked arms with her and Ross ultimately paid for the goods, including three very complicated and archaic looking light fixtures Verity had chosen.

"I'm just sad we weren't able to convincingly dress you up as an OAP," said Demelza, nudging Verity towards Ross.

Ross raised an eyebrow as he began decanting the heavy items into the boot of the car.

"Ha ha ha, very funny," he said expressionlessly, "you can't change this gorgeousness, God won't allow it."

Verity and Demelza laughed and got into the car. Verity sat on the back seat alongside the boxes of light fittings and Demelza sat in the front passenger seat with a paint tin on her lap.

"What's that?" asked Ross finally as they pulled into the driveway of the house.

"Lemon yellow," she said simply, looking down at it, "my favourite colour. I bought it for my room."

Ross couldn't help a smile as he parked the car, getting out and resuming his job of resident handyman.

Half an hour later, Demelza and Verity had assembled the items in the order they'd need to use them and had decided on calling builders and plumbers in for the heavy duty projects they knew they wouldn't be able to fix themselves. The stairs, pipes and mould would be dealt with by experts and people would come in to help remove items like beds and sofas from rooms they needed to repaint, but apart from that, both girls were happy to get started cleaning and varnishing. Even Verity was happy to chip in as long as she was allowed to wear gloves and not get too close to germs. Which Demelza knew was impossible, but decided not to mention that.

"We can get started after lunch," suggested Ross, looking up from the paint tins stacked on top of each other.

"But it's 11 AM," said Demelza curiously.

"A creative mind needs fuel."

With that, he threw himself down on the sofa and hid behind a copy of the Metamorphoses.

"Did you know Zeus committed incest with his daughter, Aphrodite?" came a serious voice from behind the book.

Verity and Demelza both recoiled, turning away to disappear into the kitchen. Ross grinned. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted.

Ross wolfed down his steak as Verity talked through the plan she'd written down in her notebook. They'd get all the painting done and air out the rooms during the day, then move the furniture back in. Most rooms that needed painting were already clean and tidy, it was mainly hallways, lobbies and connecting areas that needed deep cleaning, as well as one or two spare guest bedrooms.

"So I'll take the blue room," said Verity, sipping her wine carefully, "Ross, you can take the guest bedroom next to that, and Demelza, you can do your room. We'll take the hallways together. Having said that, there is more exposed space in Demelza's room, so—"

"I can help!"

Verity and Demelza both paused to look at Ross. Ross blinked back as he chewed slowly and swallowed.

"I mean….if…Demelza needs help, I can….you know…..help."

"Riiiiiiiight," said Verity, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, "I spoke to the builders while we were making lunch, they said they're happy to come tomorrow to start on the stairs, the out house and other crumbling things, and then the removers will come in the afternoon to move the beds and sofas out into a spare room. We'll put the sheets down and start painting tomorrow, but today is all about cleaning. Also, Dad's invited us over to his house. Then we'll need to put the wallpaper up for the feature walls and—"

"I'm sorry, what?"

Ross put his fork down and clasped his hands together, looking at Verity with raised eyebrows. Verity blinked and stared straight ahead at Demelza, shovelling pasta into her mouth.

"Uncle's invited us over to his house? What for, exactly?"

"He just wants to see you…he's not been well and he's feeling better after so long, he'd like to see you."

Ross wanted to say something cutting, but it was his cousin's father after all and he didn't want to hurt Verity's feelings.

"Francis will be there too. And Aunt Agatha," said Verity cautiously.

"And Elizabeth and her bitch of a mother?" said Ross savagely, picking at his plate. Demelza frowned at Verity and wondered whether now was the best time to push the invitation. Ross already didn't like social events and being around people. Asking him to be around people he hated was something he just couldn't do.

"They'll be there too, you know they always come to big family dinners. It'll only be for an hour, Ross….look, I know you don't want to be around them and I don't blame you. I'm not asking you to be nice to them or try to heal the rift or some bullshit, I just want you to be there for me. I haven't been back to that house to live for a while and….Andrew's coming and you know Francis and Dad don't like him and….it'll be hard for me."

Verity had stopped eating and she was staring at the table, her voice cracking a little. Her usual bubbly demeanour had vanished and Demelza reached across the table to hold her hand, squeezing it gently. She'd already known everything about how opposed her father and brother were to Andrew, going back there would be hard for her too.

"Then I'll come. But only for you," said Ross, turning back to his plate, "and only if Demelza comes with us too."

Verity looked up at her friend desperately and Demelza nodded quickly, giving Verity's hand another squeeze.

"Of course I'll come, darling. Anything I can do to help."

Verity thanked them both and they ate their dinner, after which Demelza went into the kitchen to check on her cake. She took it out of the fridge and began decorating it until Verity came in with the pasta bowl in one hand and plate of mozzarella in the other.

"You can't wear one of my gowns again, they'll be able to tell," she said matter of factly, setting the plates down, "we'll have to go get you a new gown, but I've got a shift on at the bakery today so you and Ross will have to go by yourselves. Bye, I'm late for my shift!"

With that, Verity grabbed her apron and ran out of the house. Demelza paused with a spoonful of cream and heard Verity shove her shoes on quickly, followed by a hasty slam of the door. Verity really was the master of dropping bombs and then leaving. Shopping with Ross was going to be hell. Something told her he didn't like shopping. She sighed and spread cream over the cake, dusting it with chocolate flakes before taking it out to the living room where Ross was sitting with a mug of tea. He looked at her forlorn expression.

"What is it? What happened?"

"The dinner's tomorrow. And Verity would like me to buy a gown for it today," she explained simply, setting the cake down and sitting on the couch, "it's currently 1 PM and shops shut in four hours. So you're going to have to take me."

Ross considered this for a minute. It wasn't a bad proposition. It'd save him from painting and cleaning at the very least. He leaned back on the couch and grinned.

"I like the idea of taking you."

Demelza turned her head to stare at him wide eyed and then covered her mouth as Ross laughed.

"Ross, that's terrible!"

They both laughed and fell back on the seat as Demelza picked up the cake and cut a slice, plating it for Ross.

"Eat up and then we'll go."

Ross grinned even wider and picked up a fork, placing the plate on his stomach and tucking in. He spoke to her between mouthfuls of cake and cream.

"I love a woman who knows the importance of food."

Demelza laughed and got up, walking upstairs to get changed.

In her mind, this wouldn't take very long. There was only one shop close to where they lived which sold gowns, so there'd be no traipsing around. Hopefully, that would lessen Ross' agitation. She pulled on the same lemon yellow dress she'd worn earlier in the day and laced up the same brogues, tying her hair up in a quick messy bun. She came downstairs to see Ross waiting in the lobby, swinging the car keys around on his finger while he blew cigarette smoke out. He was leaning back against the door waiting for her and she stopped for a second at the top of the stairs. He hadn't noticed her, he was too busy trying to keep the keys from falling. But he looked so handsome to her. He was only wearing his usual jeans and boots and a casual denim shirt, but he looked perfect. He'd been growing out his stubble over the last few days and Verity thought he looked scruffy, but Demelza thought he looked like an artist should.

She walked down the stairs with a wide smile and Ross grinned, taking her hand and walking out with her. He stamped his cigarette butt under his boot and got in with Demelza. It was a short drive to the formalwear shop and as the bell tinkled, a wave of anxiety passed over her and made her feel slightly sick, the same kind of sick she'd felt before the hunt ball. There would be less people at the dinner, but she'd still be there and they would still look at her. She remembered tripping over her gown at the dinner table last time and resolved that wouldn't happen again. She just wasn't used to wearing evening gowns, the first time she'd worn one was the hunt ball. The store was full of gowns of every colour, shape, length and size.

"Hello, how can I help you?"

Demelza stared at the too-friendly assistant. There was no one else in the shop.

"Uh…my girlfriend needs an evening gown."

Demelza turned to stare at Ross in the same way. Had he just….?

He walked straight past her and sat down on a white, gilded chair, resting his ankle on his knee. He watched as the lady took Demelza's measurements. She stood in her signature pose, boots facing inwards, cuffs fisted in hands and biting her bottom lip. He thought for a second about how he'd like to bite her bottom lip, but coughed and sat up straight when the assistant pulled a rack of gowns towards her.

"So, what kind of look are we going for? Princess? Sleek? We could go with bold colours, they'd look good with your red hair. We could try red, even a mustard yellow, perhaps a cobalt blue?"

Demelza looked at each dress in confusion. They all seemed tight and oddly structured, and Ross' eyes hurt with all the sharp, primary colours. None of them would look good on her.

"I don't think….any of these colours would be right for me," she said diplomatically, wringing her hands in apology, "how about….um….something else."

The lady was smiley as ever and put the gowns back, chattering as she did. Demelza's shoes sank into the soft, white carpet and she willed the store to stay empty.

"What's the occasion? Oh, a dinner? Well, would you like a flouncy, A line, chiffon type thing?" she grabbed a large blush pink meringue shaped gown from the rack. It looked more bridal than anything. "No? Okay, how about we go the other way, this sexy black dress?"

Demelza felt like she was about to pass out when the assistant pulled out a long, ankle length black dress with a slit all the way up the side, held together with little chains.

"It's Emilio Pucci, new season," she said, showing Demelza from all angles, "it'd be such a nice contrast with your beautiful skin tone."

Demelza shook her head violently and turned to look at Ross to gauge his reaction, but he wasn't there. She looked around the small room to see him wandering down one of the walls, rifling through gowns.

"This one."

He pulled it carefully from the rack and held it up. The assistant began talking quickly and enthusiastically about it and Demelza stared at it in wonder. It was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. It shimmered as Ross moved it on the hanger to inspect it. It was made of fine gold satin, but not any kind of gold Demelza had ever seen before. It was paler, subtler, almost like liquid caramel, like honey mixed in yoghurt. She walked over and ran her fingers over it, feeling the smooth, soft satin. It had two thin straps and the excess fabric pooled at the neckline, creating a slight cowl neck. When Ross spun it, she thought it was completely backless until she saw the fabric coming down from the straps to meet at the base of the back, falling to the sides to reveal what would be her skin. The gown was beautiful and looked like something out of a fairytale, but she didn't know whether she could pull it off. Ross looked at her.

"What do you think? Do you like it?"

Demelza nodded, but didn't feel like she could tell Ross about her worries in front of the assistant.

"Okay, then. We'll take it."

Demelza smiled at Ross as the lady wrapped the gown carefully and when they got home, she disappeared into the kitchen to prepare dinner. It was early, she was aware, but she was intending on making a slow roast tonight and it would take time and preparation. Ross let her do her own thing and disappeared into his studio to work on background for his portraits. Demelza leaned back from the counter to look through into the other room, watching him with his sleeves rolled up, green and brown paint all over his jeans and shirt as he stared out of the window, carefully creating each blade of grass with a thin nibbed paintbrush, his eyes flicking from the canvas to the window and back again. She smiled as she dried her hands on the apron tied around her waist. It was hypnotising watching him paint.

When Verity arrived back from her shift at the bakery, she too raved over the gown Ross had picked, holding it up to Demelza and staring at it, babbling in appreciation. Demelza smiled as she served dinner.

"Let's just get on with tonight's cleaning and we'll talk about the dress tomorrow," she suggested.


	9. Chapter 9

"Glass wipes? Are they even a thing?"

Demelza looked over the table at Verity, who was clutching a packet in gloved hands, staring at it.

"Yes. They're wipes. For glass."

"Like baby wipes?"

"Yes, but for glass. So you open up the sticky label and pull one out, then wipe it on things like mirrors and glass tables. It'll wipe away the dust and finger marks and smears."

Verity shrugged and got on with it. A loud clatter was heard from upstairs and Ross pounded down the stairs angrily.

"If anyone fucking asks me to use a mop again, I will batter them over the head with it. I can use a hoover, okay? A hoover's fine, I can vacuum until the cows come home, but mops are fucking evil!"

Verity and Demelza burst out laughing and Ross glared, looking them both over. Demelza had asked Verity to pick out 'clothes she didn't mind getting dirty' which meant tracksuit bottoms, whereas Demelza was wearing a pair of old, ripped dungarees and a plain white t shirt underneath, her hair wrapped up in a bandana. She looked very cute, or so Ross thought.

"Ross, either mop the floor and help us, or go shave and cut your goddamn hair."

Verity began wiping the large mirror above the mantelpiece and Ross narrowed his eyes.

"You are so annoying, you know that?"

He stormed off and Demelza watched as she varnished the coffee and dining tables, laughing when Ross turned around to glare at her too. The day wound on well, builders had inspected the Edwardian home and decided on how to fix the stairs and remove the mould without destroying the integrity of the house itself, which Ross approved of.

Soon, it was past lunch and Ross had decided to stay in his studio and eat there. Demelza crept in and watched him. He'd clipped a small photograph of a lake on a canvas which was resting against the wall and it seemed like he was working on something new. He was sketching frantically with thin nibbed charcoal pencil, pausing every now and then to add splashes of colour. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him from behind, up and around his shoulders, resting her chin on them to view his newest canvas; a picture of her in her dungarees and bandana, varnishing a wooden wall in the hallway with the garden behind her. She laughed and he turned his head to kiss her cheek, smiling and turning around.

"What are you doing here, hm? Don't you know the master is at work?" he laughed, wrapping his arms around her and pecking her lips fondly.

"Do you just paint me regardless of what I'm doing?" she asked.

"Everything you do makes me want to paint you," he said with a smile, kissing her forehead softly, "go on, go get ready with Verity. We have to leave soon and my uncle doesn't take kindly to latecomers."

Demelza pouted and nodded, turning to walk out before spinning back quickly, dipping her fingers in the blue paint pot, smearing it over his cheek and running away with a laugh. Ross protested but couldn't help a laugh, running to the door to watch her escape up the stairs. He smiled as he looked at the empty living room and heard the two girls walking around upstairs. He might not be the most fortunate person in the world, but having Demelza in his life made him feel exceptionally lucky.

"Ow! Vee, that's really hurting now, I think—"

"Beauty is pain."

Demelza grit her teeth and stared straight ahead as Verity shoved bobby pins into her scalp to try and keep her elaborate updo in place.

"There we go! All done!" she announced happily with a clap of her hands, "What do you think?"

Demelza turned her head to look at her hair from all angles and was immensely pleased with the result. Perhaps beauty was pain after all, and that applied to her shoes too. She'd borrowed a pair of Verity's gold satin peep toe heels and had been introduced to a more fashionable strappy pair, but had found it hard to walk in them. As she stood up to hobble over and look in the full length mirror, she couldn't suppress a smile. She'd never thought of herself as particularly elegant or en mode, but she felt like a model. She had worried about how the dress would look on her, but it was the one dress in the world that worked with her tall, oddly shaped figure. The honey coloured tone of the dress made her skin look a deeper, tan colour and a lot of it was on display when she turned around to view herself from the back. The thin straps extended down her back and backless part seemed to go a little deeper than she realised and most of her back was on display. She was also feeling odd about not wearing a bra, especially since the neckline was lower than she had imagined, but as Verity said 'you can't have a bra strap showing with a backless dress!' She also wasn't sure about the string of gold pearls around her neck, she only felt like it drew attention to her cleavage.

She was vaguely aware that she might look slightly indecent coming to a family dinner dressed like this, but Ross had picked it out and she could hardly discard it and wear something else. Verity had picked a pale pink slimline confection and Demelza picked up a matching gold satin clutch, holding her friend's hand tight to help her walk. Verity yelled loudly out of the room.

"Ross! We're ready! Are you downstairs?"

A loud grunt answered her and she grinned, tugging on Demelza's hand.

"Let's go show him the finished product."

Demelza's cheeks flushed as she walked out, smushing her lips together as she remembered to make the gloss look fresh and juicy. She'd tried her hand at her own make up this evening and was very pleased with the result. Ross looked up as Demelza walked down the stairs with Verity and he tried not to say anything in case he re-enacted a cheesy scene from a romantic movie, but there was nothing in the world more beautiful to him than how Demelza looked in that one moment.

"You have good fashion sense, Ross," remarked Verity as they reached the lobby, stepping forward to fix her cousin's collar, "I'm not so enamoured by your choice of cravat over bow tie, but it'll do. What do you think of Demelza? It is your dress after all."

Ross couldn't resist smiling as he looked her up and down. Underneath the dress, she was still sporting her signature pose of feet turned inwards. She'd substituted the cuffs of her jumper with fiddling with her pearl necklace and she looked nervous, but perfect. Something in his chest began to swell until it reached his throat and he could barely get words out.

"Well, Ross? Say something!" urged Verity, as Demelza's face dropped in anxiety, "What do you think?"

"I think that even if I painted you a thousand times, I couldn't truly capture how heavenly you look."

Demelza's eyes widened and she flushed bright pink, looking down at the floor to hide her wide smile. Verity grinned in achievement and grabbed Ross' arm.

"Good. Because you probably have painted her a thousand times and in my opinion, you never make her look as good as she is. Maybe it's because she never looks as good with you as she does with me. I'm her favourite."

Demelza laughed and linked arms with her friend as all three of them got in the car. The conversation carried on as the chauffeur drove them.

"What? Demelza, is Verity your favourite?!" asked Ross accusingly, poking a finger in his cousin's direction.

"Yes!" replied Verity proudly, "I'm her favourite! Isn't that right, Demelza?"

"You're both my favourite, okay, Mum and Dad?" she replied with a laugh, concluding the short drive as they pulled up into a little gravel driveway. In front, she could see a house, roughly the size of Nampara but evidently in better condition. The lights were on inside and it looked homely, with smoke coming out of the chimney. It was chilly outside and Demelza drew her fur stole around her, trying to cover as much of her back as she could, but remembered how Verity had instructed her to take it off as soon as she stepped inside. Ross helped both ladies out of the car and Andrew walked towards them from his car.

Ross greeted him with a handshake and Andrew carefully pecked Verity's cheek while Ross looked on with his eagle eye. Demelza had met Andrew twice before, so there was no need for introduction. She spotted him taking Verity's hand reassuringly and smiled as he knocked on the door. She was glad things were open between Verity and Andrew and that he was able to support her in a way her friend and cousin couldn't.

Suddenly, the door opened and all the nerves she had been hiding opened up with it. Elizabeth stood at the door, smiling wide, dressed in a beautiful wide legged yellow jumpsuit with white polka dots on it. Demelza frowned. She wished she'd have gone for something as understated and summery as that. Elizabeth ushered them in and smiled forcibly at Ross, pecking his cheeks and turning to Demelza.

"Demelza, welcome to Trenwith. I know it's your first time here and we're just delighted to have you."

"Thank you so much," she replied anxiously, following the little crowd into the living room. It was spacious and modern, but Demelza had no time to inspect the interiors as Ross began introducing her to Francis, Uncle Charles, Aunt Agatha and Elizabeth's mother, Mrs Chynoweth. The men were all dressed in smart suits, making Ross look slightly dishevelled in comparison. She understood why Verity had wanted Ross to wear a bow tie instead of a cravat, but her eyes drifted to Ross as he poured himself a glass of whisky. She liked the cravat on him, it made him look carefree and handsome. Which he was.

"Ah, Ross, you brought your model along too?" said his uncle jovially. Ross smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"She's part of our little family in Nampara, uncle."

Ross took his seat next to Francis and looked over at Demelza, sequestered between Elizabeth and Verity. He gave her a surreptitious thumbs up and involved himself in the political conversation erupting between the men.

"Well, I do think Donald Trump's on course for victory if these darned Americans don't do anything about it."

"Forget about America, the referendum's on Thursday and Remain have scored a three point lead."

Ross sighed and leaned back as his uncle and Andrew chatted. It was a good strategy on Andrew's behalf, getting uncle to talk about politics was like asking to be sat down and lectured until grey hairs appeared. This was the most inane way to spend his evening and he wished he was back at home in his jeans and shirt with Demelza, charcoal, paint and canvas in front of him and the radio on. Perhaps a nice, crackling fire too, and a bottle of old whisky, his mind wandered as he stared into air.

"So, you've been growing out your hair?"

Ross turned to see Francis look at him expectantly. He rolled his eyes and turned to him with a smile.

"Yeah….just thought I'd try it out."

"Your beard's, like…a proper beard now."

Ross nodded slowly.

"Yeah…it's a proper beard."

Francis nodded too, as if Ross' reply had been unbearably interesting and Ross sighed, looking the other way. He could have made a comment on the colour of Francis' cufflinks, but he chose not to. After a few minutes, he turned back to see how Demelza was getting on with the girls, but spotted something that decidedly turned the mood sour. Francis' eyes were fixed on Demelza and a slight dreamy grin was etched on his face. Ross sat up on his seat.

"The fuck do you think you're looking at?" he whispered angrily.

"Nothing, nothing, what?" Francis flustered and turned back to Ross, his voice becoming irritatingly high pitched.

Ross glared and was glad when it was announced that dinner was ready. He strode in before everyone else and motioned for Demelza to sit next to him. Rehearsed conversation floated around her mind as she sat down, the wooden back of the chair cold against her skin. Ross took off his jacket and placed it on the back of her chair back to front so the fabric covered the wood. She looked at him in surprise, but he was already tucking his own chair in. She smiled and watched him for a moment. He looked so devilishly handsome in just a dress shirt and cravat, like a Hollywood playboy but without the gel and clean shave. She felt the need to push his wild hair back behind his ear and fix it, but refrained and looked down at her plate, piled with a soup starter. These upper class guys really liked their soup, she mused, stirring it cautiously with her spoon. It was chicken of some sort.

"So, Demelza, what do you do?" asked Aunt Agatha curiously.

"I work in the k….studio. I'm Ross' model," she corrected quickly, looking down at her soup.

"Ah, yes, and what sort of pictures does my nephew paint?" asked Charles. Ross glared at his plate.

"Just….scenery," she replied, unwilling to say 'me.'

"Our Ross is a very talented artist, always has been, isn't that right? You remember when he started painting, don't you, Elizabeth? He used to sketch the apple orchard and drag Elizabeth along to exhibitions in London and all the way up north, do you remember? What was that one at the Tate he raved about?" asked Charles.

"Oh, the Pre-Raphaelite one," said Elizabeth quickly, addressing the table as a whole, "he even bought the book. There was an exhibition full of just Rossetti's pencil sketches and that was lovely, Ross, do you remember that?"

"Not really."

His reply was short and terse as he finished his soup and sat back.

"Oh, come on, Ross, I know how much you love Rossetti. You used to ask us to call you that at boarding school because you said it was only four letters more than your actual name," said Elizabeth with a laugh.

"Boarding school was a long time ago. That was then, this is now."

"But you still like Rosset—"

"Elizabeth. With all due regard, you don't know anything about what I like or what I don't like, so it's best if we don't talk about it."

Demelza felt her hand shake as she set her spoon down with a tinkle. Ross reached over under the table to squeeze her thigh reassuringly. She slipped her hand underneath to take his and he held it tight.

"Well, tell us more about what you're doing now, Ross," said Andrew quickly, trying to avoid the awkwardness, "how's your residency going?"

"It's going well, I have a big exhibition coming up in London, it'd be nice to see you there, Andrew. I'll let you know when it opens, it'll be a big thing with drinks and stuff."

The dinner continued in silence and the main course arrived. Demelza fixed her hair, making sure to push the bobby pins in all the way. Francis addressed her and she turned quickly.

"So, what exactly is happening at Nampara these days? I'm so sorry I haven't had time to visit, Elizabeth and I have been awfully busy with George."

She could feel the heat radiating from Ross and she forced a smile.

"Everything's well, thank you. We're just fixing the house up a little."

The table was quiet for a moment.

"Fixing up?" asked Francis, as if he'd never heard of the term, "What does that mean? Do you spend your days cleaning and scrubbing?" he guffawed.

Elizabeth snorted as if Francis had made the best joke in the world and Charles followed with a raucous laugh. Demelza knew exactly what was going on, she wasn't that stupid. Verity opened her mouth to admonish Francis, but Demelza got there first.

"I'm afraid I have to spend my days cleaning and scrubbing, considering that Nampara's been left in the state that it was. I was shocked to see the neglect, even my father lives in a nicer house."

Francis looked at her in shock, setting his spoon down and straightening his back. The candles flickered on the table as he exhaled.

"Miss Carne, I'll have you know that's a family seat of the Poldarks, you can't—"

"If it's a family seat of the Poldarks, then perhaps the Poldarks should see to it that it's upheld as such."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ross' grip on his knife tighten and his jaw tense up. She knew he was trying his hardest not to snap at his hosts.

"I think Nampara quite beautiful," said Verity diplomatically, "I love living there and I enjoy the company. Living with Demelza is wonderful."

Elizabeth bristled at this and Verity smiled smugly, cutting her venison. Elizabeth set her fork down and smiled at Demelza, her voice laced with charm.

"So, how did you find George's hunt ball, Demelza? I trust you had a good evening."

Demelza flicked her gaze up to see Elizabeth smiling sweetly.

"It was lovely, thank you. Mr Warleggan had the courtesy to invite me to sit next to him at the table. I also made some new friends. Margaret, Verity's friend from school was especially lovely. I'd like to see her again."

Elizabeth spent the rest of the dinner silent as Charles, Andrew and Francis bickered about the European Union. Ross stayed quiet but even though nothing contentious was being discussed, it was still too much for him. They had decanted back into the dining room to take tea after dessert and his mood had become dark and stormy. He wouldn't speak to anyone and Demelza wished she could walk over and perhaps insist that they leave since it was late, but she looked over to Verity and saw how happily she was watching Andrew speak to her father. She couldn't cut the visit short, not when things were going so well.

"Interesting choice of gown, Demelza. It looks lovely on you."

Elizabeth's voice sent chills down her spine and she turned to see her standing, holding her teacup.

"Thank you. Ross picked it out."

The teacup clattered against the saucer for a second and Demelza turned away.

"It's quite revealing, you might want to put your stole back on."

Elizabeth was openly sneering at her and Demelza's brows knitted together, confused at how someone could be so angry and spiteful towards someone they didn't even know.

"I think it's perfect," came Ross' voice from the opposite end of the room, "do you have a problem with what Demelza's wearing?"

His stare was piercing and he got up, walking over purposefully. Even Charles and Andrew stopped talking to watch as Ross stood face to face with Elizabeth.

"Well? Do you? Because since she arrived, you've done nothing but belittle her."

Demelza stepped forward to take his arm and pull him away, but he shook her off. Elizabeth's brow hardened and she stared up at him defiantly, challenging his gaze.

"No, I don't have a problem with her. I do have a problem with you. This was meant to be a family dinner, I don't see the need for inviting those who aren't family members."

Ross scoffed and raised his eyebrows in disbelief at the guff that was coming out of Elizabeth's mouth.

"So you and your mother are Uncle's blood relatives, are you? I said before, Demelza's part of our family in Nampara. She lives with us and I won't hear a word against her, especially in such a sly manner. Family is about making people feel welcome, isn't it? Oh, wait, I forgot, that's not what the Poldarks do."

His voice became a little wild and his facial expressions even wilder. Demelza bit her lip and tried to pull him away again, looking over at Verity warningly. She'd told her friend this wasn't the best place for Ross to be.

Ross laughed emptily and turned around to address Charles and Francis, his wine glass spilling onto the floor in the process, his hair falling over his face.

"Caring, being generous, showing common courtesy, that's not really what the Poldarks are known for, is it? Like how you fucked me over as soon as my Dad died? Or how you let Nampara go to shit while I was away? He was your brother, Uncle! I played with you when I was a kid, Francis and despite how much I don't want to think about that time, you were my girlfriend, Elizabeth. Did you all hate me that much? Well, evidently, you all did because you screwed me over. You threw me out like I was yesterday's trash! Do you know how much it hurts to be treated like that by people you once called your family?! And what do you do now? Invite me to balls and dinners and treat me like shit under your shoe! Frankly, your snide remarks and high school gossip don't interest me. Come on, girls, we're leaving."

Ross tossed his wine glass down onto the table where it stained the white cloth and picked up his coat, his jaw tight as he grabbed Demelza's hand, motioning for Verity to follow him. As he walked towards the entrance, Andrew placed a hand on his chest and Ross looked up, readying himself for resistance again.

"I'm sorry to say this, but I do agree with Ross. You've treated him terribly and it's all because of the way you think about him and what he does and who he is. It's unfair of you, especially you, Francis and Elizabeth. There's no need to treat him this way, he's one of your childhood friends, but I fear that you can't make amends anymore. The same way you tossed Ross aside, you've done it to Verity too. You've treated her like she was disposable and I won't stand for it, either."

Andrew stepped forward and took Verity's hand, pulling her along with him. Ross and Andrew were about to walk out, but Demelza paused, pulling her hand away from Ross'. Ross turned and stared at her in surprise.

"What are—"

"You don't speak for me, Ross."

"I didn't say I was, I was on—"

"Then don't pull me out of a place like this. I'll leave when I want to, and I want to speak to Francis and Elizabeth first."

Ross was angry, but her defiance made him bristle proudly and he squeezed her hand and walked out.

"We'll be in the car," he called.

Demelza turned back to view everyone, most of whom had been staring at their interaction wordlessly. She sighed at how passive and brain numbing these people seemed to be and understood why Ross hated them so much. She stepped forward and she didn't know where her backbone came from, but she addressed the room as a whole.

"I don't know the details of your history with Ross, but…." her voice trembled as she tried to find the right words, "I don't think the way you've behaved with him has been particularly civil. He deserved to know about his father's death just like any child does and you effectively ostracised him. You, Francis, you knew that he had feelings for Elizabeth and….I have no right to say this to you, Elizabeth, I don't want to lecture you," she said gently, "but Ross really cared for you. It wasn't right of you to leave him like that and for him to come back and see you with his own cousin, ready to settle down while his own life was plunged into chaos, I don't think…."

"Why should I take responsibility for Ross' life?" asked Elizabeth briskly, stepping forward, "It's not my fault it took him forever to come back from New York, he never told me anything. It's my life and I have a right to do what I want with it."

"You do," responded Demelza quietly, "and it'd be fine if you were happy with decision you'd made. It's not your right to harass Ross and emotionally blackmail him while you're engaged to his cousin. I'd even go as far as to say that's spiteful and Machiavellian."

Francis blustered and stepped forward, causing Demelza's gaze to move to him. He looked her up and down like a dung heap the way he'd done when she had rode with Ross, but this time Demelza was ready.

"Machiavellian? That's a big word for you, isn't it? I've had quite enough of your lies, you can leave. Right now."

"Don't dismiss me like a servant, Francis, I'm not—"

"You have no right to address my family like that!" burst Charles out of nowhere. Demelza stepped back a little, taken aback by the outburst. Charles' face had gone red and his wine glass shook in his hand. He made his way towards her angrily and she breathed in and out to steady herself.

"Who do you think you are?! You come here uninvited and make fools out of me and my family! I expected Ross' disrespect, is this what you've learned from him?!"

Demelza looked up at him and grit her teeth, picking up her stole from the chair.

"No. I've learned that I'm not scared of bullies like you."

She turned and left, her heels clattering on the wooden floor. She stormed out angrily, wiping her eyes until she reached the car. She got in and Ross took her hand automatically, lifting her face to look at him.

"What happened? What did they say?" he asked, opening the car door again to walk out.

"No, Ross, it's fine, I just spoke to them. It's fine, nothing happened."

She smiled reassuringly and he sat back, closing the door with a bang. He frowned and watched Verity squeeze Demelza's hand, but to be honest, he wasn't comfortable with leaving her in a room full of those bastards. He wondered what they'd said to her, but decided to leave it. Once they reached home, they left Verity and Andrew outside to say their long goodbyes, after which Verity texted Ross to say she was spending the night at Andrew's. He had no time to protest as by the time he'd pulled on his shirt and jeans and run to the window, he saw Verity leaning out of the car waving with a big grin. He glared and turned back to see Demelza walking up the stairs, pulling bobby pins out of her hair; her updo loosened but didn't quite come apart. She set her clutch down on her dressing table and leaned forward to look in the mirror, checking how well her make up had fared throughout the evening. Ross enjoyed watching her for a moment before walking to her and taking her hand.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Need to sketch," was his short reply.

She sighed and followed him, but she was too tired for any of that. She couldn't possibly sit still, all she wanted was to go to sleep. She'd spent the entire day cleaning and then facing a very awkward social situation which wasn't exactly her idea of a relaxing evening. Her feet and legs hurt from balancing on her heels and she was feeling very strange without any sort of underwear on, but he led her down to the living room, motioning for her to sit down in front of the crackling fire place. Of course it had to be fire light, mused Demelza, sitting down and spreading her dress out. Bobby pins made a little pile in her hand as she finally pulled them all out of her hair, causing it to tumble around her shoulders. Her head ached and it was a relief to relax. She leaned back against a couch and yawned, tipping her head back lazily onto the seat like she had done before. Ross watched as she absently played with the string of pearls around her neck and pulled a fresh canvas quickly from his studio, almost running back to the living room to kneel by the rug. She looked over at the commotion and shot him a sleepy smile, tipping her head back again. The satin of her dress was warmed by the fire and it felt like a soft, cosy blanket.

The scratching of Ross' pencils and charcoal on the paper were relaxing and repetitive, even to Ross himself. He was so glad Verity had gone, now he'd be able to use the living room to sketch without her interference and God, had he wanted to sketch Demelza in that dress. He'd seen the merits of it as a prop in the dress shop, but he wasn't prepared for how perfect she'd look in it. The light worked wonders over her dress and skin and she was illuminated in gold like his own personal treasure. Fireworks went off in his mind as his charcoal ran all over the page. He didn't know where to start and where to finish, he wanted to capture it all at once. Even his breath came out frantically as he set the canvas down on the ground, kneeling over it until his hair half obscured his view, but he didn't have time to brush it out of the way.

Demelza was oblivious to his creative frenzy. She stared up at the ceiling as she threaded the single pearls through her fingers and yawned, sitting up. The fire had started to burn the skin of her legs, so she turned and lay down on her side. The warmth on her back felt good and she propped her head up on her hand, picking at the fluff of the rug distractedly. At least she wouldn't fall asleep this way and she hoped Ross wouldn't get too angry at her for moving positions. She looked up at him to gauge his reaction and he stared at her for a second, charcoal poised before he pulled a spare canvas over, setting his previous one to the side carefully. He began again, eyes flicking rapidly between the white paper and Demelza. His hand made micromovements on the canvas and Demelza smiled at his speed. She always loved watching him sketch, most of all when he was sketching her.

All of a sudden, he got up and tossed the charcoal down, his eyes scanning the canvas before jogging back into his studio to bring back a set of little paint tins. She was worried about him getting paint on the wooden floor, but didn't say a word as Ross got on his knees, pouring some cream and yellow and some other colours into a pot, mixing them all together. She didn't know the technical terms for all of them so she decided not to say anything, especially when he was so busy. She watched with interest as he mixed and held the transparent pot up in his hand, looking at her and then the paint.

"Perfect," he murmured, dipping his brush and leaning over the canvas again. Moments passed and he seemed relaxed, looking down at something close to a finished product. He couldn't quite do justice to the iridescent sheen of her dress with paint, but he'd tried damn hard.

"Is it done?" she whispered lazily, turning to lie down with her back on the rug. She stretched like a cat with her hands above her head and Ross' eyes slipped hungrily over her body, watching how the satin slid over her skin as she moved. Demelza turned her head to look at him, her hair tossed over the rug and held her hand out to him, her eyes sparkling. He sat next to her and brushed a curl of hair away from her face, gently stroking her cheek. She rubbed her face against his hand affectionately, smiling up at him before he leaned down to peck her lips softly, just catching her bottom lip before pulling away. She lifted her head to pull him back, but he stopped her.

"Arch your back for me."

His voice was low and soft, but still authoritative, and she did as he asked, arching like she was stretching again. His eyes ran over her ravenously, running his fingertips slowly from her collarbone down to her hip as she rose up. His touch felt ticklish over her dress but she closed her eyes, enjoying the way his hands felt on her body.

"Tip your head back."

The second instruction was much easier and Demelza complied, tipping her head back as far as the rug beneath her would allow. She anticipated his hands on her neck again and got exactly what she wanted, feeling his fingers, faintly smelling of fresh paint, ghosting over those hollows and crevices he loved so much. She smiled dreamily, feeling him hold her neck in his hand, rubbing it softly with his thumb. His passion for how beautiful her neck looked in the light and shadow never dissipated. He leaned down to kiss her neck, taking his time, placing each kiss purposefully over her warm skin until he felt her hand wind through his hair. The beat of her pulse was warm and steady against his mouth. She felt him smile against her skin and he found the spot he adored, the middle of her neck, and licked and kissed and bit until she was moaning slightly. But not loud enough.

"Louder," he whispered against her neck, laving the sensitive spot with his tongue, "I want to hear you, Demelza."

She wanted to say something, but her breath caught in her throat as she felt his hands on her body, first running slowly over her, feeling, searching, exploring the contours of her body. She whispered his name, frowning as he pulled back from her neck and she sat up in confusion.

"Ross, why—"

He got up and took her hand, helping her up. She was still confused until he stood behind her and brushed her curls over her shoulder, his fingers barely touching her back. She smiled as she felt his touch on her back, making her arch just as he wanted. His breath tickled her ear.

"You look divine in this dress," he murmured, slipping his hands under the satin to feel the warmth of her skin, "like Aphrodite herself."

His nose nuzzled her earlobe and she tipped her head to the side, shivering from his touch. He hooked his fingers under the straps of her dress and pulled them down slightly, letting go. The dress slipped over her body to the floor like liquid caramel and she instantly felt the fire warm her bare skin. She bit her lip and wanted to cover herself, but she couldn't move. She felt frozen to the spot and the anxieties about her body being lanky and oddly proportioned came flying back like a jet plane, rendering her mute. She scrunched her eyes shut and opened them, intending to look into the fire, but seeing Ross instead.

He stood in front of her, but his eyes moved over her body slowly as if he was drinking her in. She clenched her hands tight and looked down, but he took her hand, gently unclenching it. He brought it to his lips and kissed it softly, making her smile.

"You're perfect."

She flushed bright pink and he let go of her hand to pull off his own shirt. She flushed even deeper at that, looking everywhere but him, but she couldn't avoid his gaze when he pulled her close. His skin sizzled against hers and he kissed her deeply, paying his usual special attention to her bottom lip. She smiled against his kiss, exploring his body like he had to hers, her hands tripping clumsily over his stomach and up to his broad shoulders then down again to his jeans. She felt his tongue lazily coaxing hers, his hands moving slowly but firmly down her body. She traced the wide V above his jeans with her fingers and pulled away reluctantly, looking down.

"You told me about this once," she mused quietly, and Ross pressed his forehead to hers, looking down at her fingers, slowly moving up and down his defined muscles. She paused before continuing, "it's your iliac furrow."

She said the term slowly and deliberately, making him smile, his hands squeezing her hips softly.

"You said it's called the Adonis Belt," she murmured, pressing her thumbs against the hollows, "or Aphrodite's saddle."

"Yeah…because she rides it," he said with a grin. He remembered how shocked she'd been when he'd told her that and how he'd laughed at her surprise while they'd been viewing old Renaissance portraits.

"There's even marks either side for where she'd rest her legs," giggled Demelza, looking up at him.

"You talk about her as if she's a third person," said Ross before he swept in to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and matched him kiss for kiss, but it took her a moment to understand what he'd meant and the pink flush found its way to her cheeks again. She hadn't even registered when she had laid down again, but Ross was above her and she felt his hands on her skin and that was all she wanted. Words like 'beautiful' and 'perfect' slipped from his lips as he pressed soft kisses all over her neck, relieving her lips for a moment to move even lower, placing a gentle kiss between her breasts. Her hand tightened in his hair as he flicked his tongue over her nipple, circling it and sucking it until he felt her buck under him. He continued on his journey, his lips exploring her skin, lit warm shades of gold and peach by the fire. The gold pearls she'd discarded caught his eye and he sat up, picking up the necklace and laying it over her neck, then dragging it slowly down her body. The warm gold of the precious stone melted into the honey caramel of her skin and she responded to the new feeling, her hips shifting as Ross watched. She was perfection in his eyes, more sensual and arousing than any sight he'd seen in his life. Just then, watching her hands above her head, her head tipped back, her body so fluid under the firelight, it was the most enchanting and carnal thing Ross had ever seen. His breath left his body shakily and she opened her eyes to look at him, bringing her head back up.

He moved back on top of her without a word, leaning down to caress her jaw with his lips before moving further down until he was between her legs, spreading them open. Her eyes were wide and she looked down at him in shock, half sitting up. He pushed her back down gently and grinned, his lips tickling the inside of her thighs. She felt exposed, Ross was so close to her and it felt so strange.

"Ross, what are you doing?" she asked unsteadily.

"I'm artist, I need to get the best view."

He grinned at her from between her legs and took a moment to appreciate his new perspective before Demelza gasped loudly at his actions. She gripped the rug tight, her breath leaving her body as she felt his tongue somewhere she'd never felt anyone before. She seemed to have lost control of her entire body, falling back onto the rug to moan loudly as he worked his mouth slowly but deliberately on her. She tasted so good and he wanted to lie there all night just watching her. He opened his eyes to observe the effect he hand on her as he swirled his tongue slowly, adding his fingers until she cried out with pleasure, her head falling to the side. He kept his eyes on her, licking her wet folds as he felt her hand in his hair pulling him closer desperately. He bit the inside of her thigh, making her gasp, her eyes fluttering as his fingers worked deeper and deeper. Back on top of her, he kicked his jeans off and feathered her lips with kisses to which she clung desperately, pulling him down to meet her. She never wanted him to move away, she wanted them to be joined together all night until she was exhausted. Her hips bucked up to meet his fingers, rocking against them over and over as he swiftly brought her to her peak, then pulled away.

She was about to protest, but she felt him pressing at her entrance and he braced himself with one hand at her head, looking down at her. His eyes were as wild as his hair and he flicked his tongue out to lick his bottom lip before leaning down to kiss her softly, gently, slowly, murmuring quietly against her lips.

"I need you, Demelza."

She wrapped her arms around him, her palms running over the taught muscles of his back, feeling how they flexed and relaxed as he pushed inside her slowly, carefully, sheathing himself inside her until there was nowhere left to move. He shuddered at the feeling and her fingernails bit into his back as her mouth opened in a soundless gasp. She felt him bury his face in her neck, his lips slipping softly over her warm skin as he moved slowly and deeply inside her, but it was enough to wash her whole body with something she couldn't describe. It felt good, like she'd heard it would, but it was more, different, inexplicable. Ross' growls were audible just close to her ear and he rocked into her gently, lazily almost, as if he wanted to make it last as long as possible. They stayed like that for an age, Demelza's hands moving over his chest, his back, his arms, feeling the warmth and power under his skin, and Ross took the opportunity to spend his time looking at her, watching how she reacted with every thrust, every new movement. Observing her had always been his favourite pastime, but now the atmosphere around them was amplified, he could take his time watching how she tossed her head back, exposing her beautiful neck, or how she gasped and panted and pulled him in for kisses he would gladly have spent his whole night giving.

The angle of his hips shifted and Demelza bit her lip, feeling every thrust deeper and deeper, making her breath catch as Ross slipped his hands under her to hold her even closer to him. She matched his hips with the same rocking motion, needing him as deep as he could be and all of a sudden, she became aware of how his body shook slightly and his strangled sounds against her ear, as if he was trying to hold something in. He sunk his lips into her neck again but less gently, biting hungrily to taste her skin, but he didn't have to do anything else. His eyes locked with hers and she felt the warmth flood higher and higher, all she'd wanted was for Ross to look at her and never look away. The entire room echoed and she couldn't make sense of it, she never realised her voice could be so loud, or that she could ever feel anything that would make her cry out with the pleasure of it. Ross wanted to be present, to watch her as she came for him but it was impossible. He couldn't tell which echo was his and which was Demelza's, all he knew was that her lips tasted cool and sweet against his and she smiled up at him, breathless and beautiful.

"That was good."

Ross laughed a little at her sheepish evaluation and sighed, falling onto his back on the rug, pulling her close to him.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was good," he replied, smiling and closing his eyes as he felt her hand slowly stroke his chest up and down, her hair tickling his skin comfortably.

"It was….so good that maybe….you know, it…..it would be nice to….do it again?"

It was more a question than a statement and Ross' chest rose and fell as he chuckled, running his hand lazily up and down her back.

"Give me a minute to get myself together, love."

She smiled at that, propping her chin up on his chest. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be happy, to have someone who cared for you, who touched you gently like you were precious to them. Ross smiled at her idly with his hand behind his head, resting on it as he watched her. His gaze wasn't the oppressive, analytical look she'd felt before she'd arrived at the house. Maybe she'd been viewing it wrong, because all she felt when he looked at her was soft and loved and appreciated, like she'd fallen from heaven just for him. He made her feel special, and that was something she'd never felt in her entire life


End file.
